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es5! i: I
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LIBRARY
OF THE
UN I VER5ITY
or ILLINOIS
DEMOS
VOL. I.
DEMOS
A STORY OF ENGLISH SOCIALISM
Jene maclien Partei ; welch' unerlaubtes Beginnen !
Aber unsre Partei, freilich, versteht sich von selbst '
Goethe
IN THEEE VOLUMES
YOL. I.
LONDO]^
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1886
[All rights reservedl
DEMOS.
CHAPTER I.
Stanbury Hill, remote but two hours' walk
from a region blasted with mine and factory
and furnace, shelters with its western slope a
fair green valley, a land of meadows and orchard,
untouched by poisonous breath. At its foot
lies the village of Wanley. The opposite side
;-of the hollow is clad with native wood, skirt-
; ing for more than a mile the bank of a shallow
^ stream, a tributary of the Severn. Wanley con-
sists in the main of one long street ; the houses
^ are stone-built, with mullioned windows, here
; and there showing a picturesque gable or a
/^ quaint old chimney. The oldest buildings are
^ four cottages which stand at the end of the
^street ; once upon a time they formed the
country residence of the abbots of Bel wick.
> The abbey of that name still claims for its
ruined self a portion of earth's surface ; but, as
^ VOL. I. - B
6^
<
2 DEMOS
it had the misfortune to be erected above the
thickest coal-seam in England, its walls are
blackened with the fume of collieries and shaken
by the strain of mighty engines. Climb Stanbury
Hill at nightfall, and, looking eastward, you
behold far off a dusky ruddiness in the sky,
like the last of an angry sunset ; with a glass
you can catch glimpses of little tongues of
flame, leaping and quivering on the horizon.
That is Belwick. The good abbots, who were
wont to come out in the summer time to Wanley,
would be at a loss to recognise their consecrated
home in those sooty relics. Belwick, with its
hundred and fifty fire-vomiting blast-furnaces,
would to their eyes more nearly resemble a
certain igneous realm of which they thought
much in their sojourn upon earth, and which,
we may assure ourselves, they dream not of in
the quietness of their last long sleep.
A large house, which stands aloof from the
village and a little above it, is Wanley Manor.
The county history tells us that Wanley was
given in the fifteenth century to that same
religious foundation, and that at the dissolution
of monasteries the Manor passed into the hands
of Queen Catherine. The house is half-tim-
bered ; from the height above it looks old and
peaceful amid its immemorial trees. Towards
the end of the eighteenth century it became
the home of a family named Eldon, the estate
DEMOS 3
including the greater part of the valley below.
But an Eldon who came into possession when
William IV. was King brought the fortunes of
his house to a low ebb, and his son, seeking to
improve matters by abandoning his prejudices
and entering upon commercial speculation, in
the end left a widow and two boys with little
more to live upon than the income which arose
from Mrs. Eldon's settlements. The manor was
shortly after this purchased by a Mr, Mutimer,
a Bel wick ironmaster ; but Mrs. Eldon and her
boys still inhabited the house, in consequence
of certain events which will shortly be narrated.
Wanley would have mourned their departure ;
they were the aristocracy of the neighbourhood,
and to have them ousted by a name which no
one knew, a name connected only with blast-
furnaces, would have made a distinct fall in
the tone of Wanley society. Fortunately no
changes were made in the structure by its
new owner. Not far from it you see the
church and the vicarage, these also unmo-
lested in their quiet age. Wanley, it is to be
feared, lags far behind the times — painfully
so, when one knows for a certainty that the
valley upon which it looks conceals treasures
of coal, of ironstone — blackband, to be techni-
cal— and of fireclay. Some ten years ago it
seemed as if better things were in store ; there
was a chance that the vale might for ever cast
B 2
4 DEMOS
off its foolisli greenery, and begin vomiting
smoke and flames in humble imitation of its
metropolis beyond the hills. There are men in
Belwick who have an angry feeling whenever
Wanley is mentioned to them.
After the inhabitants of the Manor, the most
respected of those who dwelt in Wanley were
the Walthams. At the time of which I speak,
this family consisted of a middle-aged lady ; her
son, of one-and-twenty ; and her daughter, just
eighteen. They had resided here for httle more
than two years, but a gentility which marked
their speech and demeanour, and the fact that
they were well acquainted with the Eldons,
from the first caused them to be looked up to.
It was conjectured, and soon confirmed by Mrs.
Waltham's own admissions, that they had
known a larger way of living than that to
which they adapted themselves in the little
house on the side of Stanbury Hill, whence they
looked over the village street. Mr. Waltham
had, in fact, been a junior partner in a Belwick
firm, which came to grief. He saved enough
out of the wreck to make a modest competency
for his family, and would doubtless in time have
retrieved his fortune, but death was beforehand
with him. His wife, in the second year of her
widowhood, came with her daughter Adela to
Wanley ; her son Alfred had gone to com-
mercial work in Belwick. Mrs. Waltham was
DEMOS 5
a prudent woman, and tenacious of ideas which
recommended themselves to her practical in-
stincts ; such an idea had much to do with her
settlement in the remote village, which she
would not have chosen for her abode out of
love of its old-world quietness. But at the
Manor was Hubert Eldon. Hubert was four
years older than Adela. He had no fortune of
his own, but it was tolerably certain that some
day he would be enormously rich, and there
was small likelihood that he would marry till
that expected change in his position came
about.
On the afternoon of a certain Good Friday,
Mrs. Waltham sat at her open window, enjoy-
ing the air and busy with many thoughts,
among other things w^ondering who was likely
to drop in for a cup of tea. It was a late
Easter, and warm spring weather had already
clothed the valley with greenness ; to-day the
sun was almost hot, and the west wind brought
many a sweet odour from gardens near and
far. From her sitting-room Mrs. Waltham
had the best view to be obtained from any
house in Wanley ; she looked, as I have said,
right over the village street, and on either hand
the valley spread before her a charming pro-
spect. Opposite was the wooded slope, freshen-
ing now with exquisite shades of new-born
leafage ; looking north, she saw fruit-gardens,
6 DEMOS
making tender harmonies ; southwards spread
verdure and tillage. Yet something there was
which disturbed the otherwise perfect unity of
the scene, an unaccustomed trouble to the eye.
In the very midst of the vale, perhaps a quarter
of a mile to the south of the village, one saw
what looked like the beginning of some engi-
neering enterprise — a great thro wing-up of earth,
and tlie commencement of a roadway on which
metal rails were laid. What was being done .^
The work seemed too extensive for a mere
scheme of drainac^e. Whatever the undertakino^
might be, it was now at a stand-still, seeing that
old Mr. Mutimer, the owner of the land, had
been in his grave just three days, and no one
as yet could say whether his heir would or
would not pursue this novel project. Mrs.
Waltham herself felt that the view was spoilt,
though her appreciation of nature was not of
the keenest, and she would never have thought
of objecting to a scheme which would produce
money at the cost of the merely beautiful.
' I scarcely think Hubert will continue it,'
she was musing to herself. 'He has enough
without that, and his tastes don't lie in that
direction.'
She had on her lap a local paper, at which
she glanced every now and then ; but her state
of mind was evidently restless. The road on
either side of which stood the houses of the
DEMOS 7
village led on to the Manor, and in that direc-
tion Mrs. Waltham gazed frequently. The
church clock chimed half-past four, and shortly
after a rosy-cheeked young girl came at a
quick step up the gravelled pathway which
made the approach to the Walthams' cottage.
She saw Mrs. Waltham at the window, and,
when she was near, spoke.
' Is Adela at home ? '
' No, Letty ; she's gone for a walk with her
brother.'
' I'm so sorry ! ' said the girl, whose voice
was as sweet as her face was pretty. 'We
wanted her to come for croquet. Yet I was
half afraid to come and ask her whilst Mr.
Alfred was at home.'
She laughed, and at the same time blushed
a little.
' Why should you be afraid of Alfred .^ '
asked Mrs. Waltham graciously.
' Oh, I don't know.'
She turned it off, and spoke quickly of
another subject.
' How did you like Mr. Wy vern this morn-
ing?'
It was a new vicar, who had been in Wan-
ley but a couple of days, and had this morning
officiated for the first time at the church.
' What a voice he has ! ' was the lady's
reply.
8 DEMOS
' Hasn't he ? And such a hairy man I
They say he's very learned ; but his sermon
was very simple — didn't you think so ? '
' Yes, I liked it. Only he pronounces cer-
tain words strangely/
' Oh, has Mr. Eldon come yet ? ' was the
young lady's next question.
' He hadn't arrived this morning. Isn't it
extraordinary ? He must be out of England.'
' But surely Mrs. Eldon knows his address,
and he can't be so very far away.'
As she spoke she looked down the path-
way by which she had come, and of a sudden
her face exhibited alarm.
' Oh, Mrs. Waltham ! ' she whispered hur-
riedly. ' If Mr. Wyvern isn't coming to see
you ! I'm afraid to meet him. Do let me pop
in and hide till I can get away without being
seen.'
The front door stood ajar, and the girl at
once ran into the house. Mrs. Waltham came
into the passage laughing.
' May I go to the top of the stairs ? ' asked
the other nervously. ' You know how absurdly
shy I am. No, I'll run out into the garden
behind ; then I can steal round as soon as he
comes in.*
She escaped, and in a minute or two the
new vicar presented himself at the door. A
little maid might well have some apprehension
DEMOS , 9
in facing him, for Mr. Wyvern was of vast
proportions and leonine in aspect. With the
exception of one ungloved hand and the scant
portions of his face which were not hidden by-
hair, he was wholly black in hue ; an enormous
beard, the colour of jet, concealed the linen
about his throat, and a veritable mane, dark as
night, fell upon his shoulders. His features
were not ill-matched with this sable garniture ;
their expression was a fixed severity : his eye
regarded you with stern scrutiny, and passed
from the examination to a melancholy reflec-
tiveness. Yet his appearance was suggestive of
anything but ill-nature ; contradictory though
it may seem, the face was a pleasant one, in-
viting to confidence, to respect ; if he could
only have smiled, the tender humanity which
lurked in the lines of his countenance would
have become evident. His age was probably
a little short of fifty.
A servant replied to his knock, and, after
falling back in a momentary alarm, introduced
him to the sitting-room. He took Mrs. Wal-
tham's hand silently, fixed upon her the full
orbs of his dark eyes, and then, whilst still re-
taining her fingers, looked thoughtfully about
the room. It was a pleasant little parlour,
with many an evidence of refinement in those
who occupied it. Mr. Wyvern showed some-
thing like a look of satisfaction. He seated
lo DEMOS
himself, and tlie cliair creaked ominously be-
neath him. Then he again scrutinised Mrs.
Waltham.
She was a lady of fair complexion, with a
double chin. Her dress suggested elegant
tastes, and her hand was as smooth and delicate
as a lady's should be. A long gold chain de-
scended from her neck to the watch-pocket
at her waist, and her fingers exhibited several
rings. She bore the reverend gentleman's
scrutiny with modest grace, almost as if it
flattered her. And indeed there was nothing
whatever of ill-breeding in Mr. Wy vern's mqde
of instituting acquaintance with his parishioner ;
one felt that he was a man of pronounced
originality, and that he might be trusted in his
variance from the wonted modes.
The view from the windows gave him a
subject for his first remarks. Mrs. Waltham
had been in some fear of a question which
would go to the roots of her soul's history ; it
would have been in keeping with his visage.
But, with native acuteness, she soon discovered
that Mr. Wyvern's gaze had very little to do
with the immediate subject of his thought, or,
what was much the same thing, that he seldom
gave the whole of his attention to the matter
outwardly calhng for it. He was a man of
profound mental absences ; he could make re-
plies, even put queries, and all the while be
DEMOS n
brooding intensely upon a wholly different
subject. Mrs. Waltliam did not altogether
rehsh it ; she was in the habit of being heard
with deference ; but, to be sure, a clergyman
only talked of worldly things by way of con-
cession. It certainly seemed so in this clergy-
man's case.
'Your prospect,' Mr. Wyvern remarked
presently, ' will not be improved by the w^orks
below.'
His voice was very deep, and all his words
were weighed in the utterance. This delibera-
tion at times led to pecuharities of emphasis
in single words. Probably he was a man of
philological crotchets ; he said, for instance,
' pro-spect.'
' I scarcely think Mr. Eldon will go on with
the mining,' repHed Mrs. Waltham.
'Ah! you think not?'
' I am quite sure he said that unconsciously,'
the lady remarked to herself. ' He's thinking
of some quite different affair.'
' Mr. Eldon,' the clergyman resumed, fixing
upon her an absent eye, ' is Mr. Mutimer's son-
in-law, I understand ? '
' His brother, Mr. Godfrey Eldon, was,' Mrs.
Waltham corrected.
' Ah ! the one that died ? '
He said it questioningly ; then added —
' I have a difficulty in mastering details of
12 DEMOS
this kind. You would do me a great kindness
in explaining to me briefly of whom the family
at the Manor at present consists ? '
Mrs. Waltham was delighted to talk on such
a subject.
' Only of Mrs. Eldon and her son, Mr. Hu-
bert Eldon. The elder sou, Godfrey, was lost in
a shipwreck, on a voyage to New Zealand.'
' He was a sailor ? '
' Oh, no ! ' said the lady, with a smile. ' He
was in business at Belwick. It was shortly after
his marriacre with Miss Mutimer that he took
the voyage — partly for his health, partly -to
examine some property his father had had an
interest in. Old Mr. Eldon engaged in specu-
lations— I believe it was flax-growing. The
results, unfortunately, were anything but satis-
factory. It was that which led to his son
entering business — quite a new thing in their
family. Wasn't it very sad .^ Poor Godfrey
and his young wife both drowned ! The mar-
riage was, as you may imagine, not altogether
a welcome one to Mrs. Eldon ; Mr. Mutimer
was quite a self-made man, quite. I under-
stand he has relations in London of the very
poorest class — labouring people.'
' They probably benefit by his will .^ '
' I can't say. In any case, to a very small
extent. It has for a long time been understood
that Hubert Eldon inherits.'
DEMOS 13
' Singular ? ' murmured the clergyman, still
in the same absent way.
' Is it not ! He took so to the young
fellows ; no doubt he was flattered to be allied
to them. And then he was passionately de-
voted to his daughter ; if only for her sake,
he would have done his utmost for the
family.'
' I understand that Mr. Mutimer purchased
the Manor from them ? '
'That w^as before the maniage. Godfrey
Eldon sold it ; he had his father's taste for
speculation, I fancy, and wanted capital. Then
Mr. Mutimer begged them to remain in the
house. He certainly was a wonderfully kind
old — old gentleman ; his behaviour to Mrs.
Eldon was always the perfection of courtesy.
A stranger would find it difficult to understand
how she could get on so well with him, but
their sorrows brought them together, and Mr.
Mu timer's generosity w^as really noble. If I
had not known his origin, I should certainly
have taken him for a county gentleman.'
' Yet he proposed to mine in the valley,'
observed Mr. Wyvern, half to himself, casting
a glance at the windows.
Mrs. Waltham did not at first see the con-
nection between this and what she had been
saying. Then it occurred to her that Mr.
Wyvern was aristocratic in his views.
14 DEMOS
' To be sure,' she said, ' one expects to find
a little of the original— of the money-making
spirit. Of course such a thing would never
have suggested itself to the Eldons. And in
fact very little of the lands remained to them.
Mr. Mutimer bought a great deal from other
people.'
As Mr. Wyvern sat brooding, Mrs. Waltham
asked —
' You have seen ]\Irs. Eldon ? '
'Not yet. She is too unwell to receive
visits.'
' Yes, poor thing, she is a great invalid.- I
thought, perhaps, you But I know she
likes to be very quiet. What a strange thing
about Mr. Eldon, is it not? You know that
he has never come yet ; not even to the
funeral.'
' Singular ! '
' An inexplicable thing ! There has never
been a shadow of disagreement between
them.'
' Mr. Eldon is abroad, I believe ? ' said the
clergyman musingly.'
'Abroad? Oh dear, no ! At least, I .
Is there news of his being abroad? '
Mr. Wyvern merely shook his head.
' As far as we know,' Mrs. Waltham con-
tinued, rather disturbed by the suggestion, ' he
is at Oxford.'
DEMOS 15
' A student ? '
' Yes. He is quite a youth — only two-and-
twenty.'
There was a knock at the door, and a maid-
servant entered to ask if she should lay the
table for tea. Mrs. Waltham assented ; then,
to her visitor —
' You will do us the pleasure of drinking a
cup of tea, Mr. Wyvern ? we make a meal of
it, in the country way. My boy and girl are
sure to be in directly.'
' I should like to make their acquaintance,'
was the grave response.
'Alfred, my son,' the lady proceeded, 'is
with us for his Easter holiday. Belwick is so
short a distance away, and yet too far to allow
of his living here, unfortunately.'
' His age ? '
' Just one-and-twenty.'
' The same age as my own boy.'
'.Oh, you have a son ? '
' A youngster, studying music in Germany.
I have just been spending a fortnight with
him.'
' How delightful ! If only poor Alfred
could have pursued some, more — more liberal
occupation ! Unhappily, we had small choice.
Friends were good enough to offer him excep-
tional advantages not long after his father's
death, and I was only too glad to accept the
i6 DEMOS
opening. I believe lie is a clever boy ; only
such a dreadful Eadical.' She laughed, with a
deprecatory motion of the hands. ' Poor Adela
and he are at daggers drawn ; no doubt it is
some terrible argument that detains them now
on the road. I can't think how he got his
views ; certainly his father never inculcated
them.'
'The air, Mrs. Waltham, the air,' mur-
mured the clergyman.
The lady was not quite sure that she under-
stood the remark, but the necessity of reply
was obviated by the entrance of the young
man in question. Alfred was somewhat under-
grown, but of solid build. He walked in a
sturdy and rather aggressive way, and his
plump face seemed to indicate an intelligence,
bright, indeed, but of the less refined order.
His head was held stiffly, and his whole bearing
betrayed a desire to make the most of his
defective stature. His shake of the hand was
an abrupt downward jerk, like a pull at a bell-
rope. In the smile with which he met Mr.
Wyvern a supercilious frame of mind was not
altogether concealed ; he seemed anxious to
have it understood that in him the clerical
attire inspired nothing whatever of superstitious
reverence. Eeverence, in truth, was not Mr.
Waltham's faihng.
Mr. Wyvern, as his habit was at introduc-
DEMOS
17
tions, spoke no words, but held the youth's
hand for a few moments and looked him in the
eyes. Alfred turned his head aside uneasily,
and was a trifle ruddy in the cheeks when at
length he regained his liberty.
' By-the-by,' he remarked to his mother
when he had seated himself, with crossed legs,
* Eldon has turned up at last. He passed us in
a cab, or so Adela said. I didn't catch a
glimpse of the individual.'
' Eeally ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. ' He
was comincf from Agworth station ? '
' I suppose so. There was a trunk on the
four-wheeler. Adela says he looked ill, though
I don't see how she discovered so much.'
' I have no doubt she is right. He must
have been ill.'
Mr. Wyvern, in contrast with his habit,
was paying marked attention ; he leaned for-
ward, with a hand on each knee. In the
^meanwhile the preparations for tea had pro-
gressed, and as Mrs. Waltham rose at the sight
of the teapot being brought in, her daughter
entered the room. Adela was taller by half a
head than her brother ; she was slim and grace-
ful. The air had made her face bloom, and
the smile which was added as she drew near
to the vicar enhanced the charm of a counte-
nance at all times charming. She was not
less than ladylike in self-possession, but Mr.
VOL. I. c
1 8 DEMOS
Wyvern's towering sableness clearly awed her a
little. For an instant her eyes drooped, but at
once she raised them and met the severe gaze
with unflinching orbs. Eeleasing her hand,
Mr. Wyvern performed a singular little cere-
mony : he laid his right palm very gently ou
her nutbrown hair, and his lips moved. At
the same time he all but smiled.
Alfred's face was a delightful study the
while; it said so clearly, 'Confound the par-
son's impudence ! ' Mrs. Waltham, on the other
hand, looked pleased as she rustled to her
place at the tea-tray.
' So Mr. Eldon has come ? ' she said, glancing
at Adela. ' Alfred says he looks ill.'
' Mother,' interposed the young man, ' pray
be accurate. I distinctly stated that I did not
even see him, and should not have known that
it was he at all. Adela is responsible for that
assertion.'
' I just saw his face,' the girl said naturally.
' I thought he looked ill.'
Mr. Wyvern addressed to her a question
about her walk, and for a few minutes they
conversed together. There was a fresh sim-
plicity in Adela's way of speaking which har-
monised well with her appearance and with the
scene in which she moved. A gentle English
girl, this dainty home, set in so fair and peaceful
a corner of the world, was just the abode one
DEMOS 19
would have choseu for her. Her beauty seemed
a part of the burgeoning springthne. She was
not hivish of her smiles ; a timid seriousness
marked her manner to the clergyman, and she
replied to his deliberately-posed questions with
a gravity respectful alike of herself and of him.
In front of Mr. Yv^yvern stood a large cake,
of which a portion was already shced. The
vicar, at Adela's invitation, accepted a piece of
the cake; having eaten this, he accepted another ;
then yet another. His absence had come back
upon him, and as he talked he continued to eat
portions of the cake, till but a small fraction of
the original structure remained on the dish.
Alfred, keenly observant of what was going on,
pursed his lips from time to time and looked at
his mother with exaggerated gravity, leading
her eyes to the vanishing cake. Even Adela
could not but remark the reverend gentleman's
abnormal appetite, but she steadily discouraged
her brother's attempts to draw her into the joke.
At length it came to pass that Mr. Wyvern
himself, stretching his hand mechanically to the
dish, became aware that he had exhibited liis
appreciation of the sweet food in a degree
not altogether sanctioned by usage. He fixed
his eyes en the tablecloth, and was silent for a
while.
As soon as the vicar had taken his depar-
c 2
20 DEMOS
ture Alfred threw himself into a chair, thrust
out his legs, and exploded in laughter.
' By Jove ! ' he shouted. ' If that man
doesn't experience symptoms of disorder !
Why, I should be prostrate for a week if I
consumed a quarter of what he has put out of
sight.'
' Alfred, you are shockingly rude,' reproved
his mother, though herself laughing. 'Mr.
Wyvern is absorbed in thought.'
'Well, he has taken the best means, I
should say, to remind himself of actualities,'
rejoined the youth. ' But what a man he is !
How did he behave in church this morning ? '
' You should have come to see,' said Mrs.
Waltham, mildly censuring her son's disregard
of the means of grace.
' I like Mr. Wyvern,' observed Adela, who
was standing at the window looking out upon
the dusking valley.
' Oh, you would like any man in parsonical
livery,' scoffed her brother.
Alfred shortly betook himself to the garden^
where, in spite of a decided freshness in the
atmosphere, he walked for half-an-hour smok-
ing a pipe. When he entered the house again,
he met Adela at the foot of the stairs.
'Mrs. Mewling has just come in,' she
whispered.
' All right, I'll come up with you,' was the
DEMOS 21
reply. Heaven defend me from her small-
talk!'
They ascended to a very httle room, which
made a kmd of boudoir for Adela. Alfred
struck a match and lit a lamp, disclosing a nest
of wonderful purity and neatness. On the
table a drawing-board was slanted ; it showed
a text of Scripture in process of ' illumination.'
' Still at that kind of thing ! ' exclaimed
Alfred. ' My good child, if you want to paint,
why don't you paint in earnest? Eeally,
Adela, I must enter a protest! Eemember
that you are eighteen years of age.'
' I don't forget it, Alfred.'
' At eight-and-twenty, at eight-and-thirty,
you propose still to be at the same stage of
development ? '
' I don't think we'll talk of it,' said the girl
quietly. ' We don't understand each other.'
' Of course not, but we might, if only you'd
read sensible books that I could give you.'
Adela shook her head. The philosophical
youth sank into his favourite attitude — legs
extended, hands in pockets, nose in air.
' So, I suppose,' he said presently, ' that
fellow really has been ill ? '
Adela was sitting in thought ; she looked
up with a shadow of annoyance on her face.
'That fellow?'
' Eldon, you know.'
22 DEMOS
'I want to ask you a question/ said his
sister, interlocking her fingers and pressing
them against her throat. ' Why do you always
speak in a contemptuous way of Mr. Eldon ? '
' You know I don't like the individual.'
' What cause has " the individual " given
you?'
' He's a snob.'
* I'm not sure that I know what that means,'
replied Adela, after thinking for a moment with
downcast eyes.
' Because you never read anything. He's
a fellow who raises a great edifice of pretence
on rotten foundations.'
'What can you mean? Mr. Eldon is a
gentleman. What pretence is he guilty of? '
' Gentleman ! ' uttered her brother with
much scorn. ' Upon my word, that is the
vulgarest of denominations ! Who doesn't call
himself so nowadays ! A man's a man, I
take it, and what need is there to lengthen the
name ? Thank the powers, we don't live in
feudal ages. Besides, he doesn't seem to me to
be what you imply.'
Adela had taken a book ; in turning over
the pages, she said —
' No doubt you mean, Alfred, that, for some
reason, you are determined to view him with
prejudice.'
' The reason is obvious enough. The fellow's
DEMOS 23
behaviour is detestable ; he looks at you from
head to foot as if you were applying for a place
in his stable. Whenever I want an example of
a contemptible aristocrat, there's Eldon ready-
made. Contemptible, because he's such a
sham ; as if everybody didn't know his history
and his circumstances ! '
' Everybody doesn't regard them as you do.
There is nothing whatever dishonourable in his
position.'
' Not in sponging on a rich old plebeian, a
man he despises, and living in idleness at his
expense ? '
' I don't believe Mr. Eldon does anything of
the kind. Since his brother's death he has had
a sufficient income of his own, so mother says.'
' Sufficient income of his own ! Bah ! Five
or six hundred a year ; likely he lives on that !
Besides, haven't they soaped old Mutimer into
leaving them all his property.^ The whole
affair is the best illustration one could possibly
have of what aristocrats are brought to in a
democratic age. First of all, Godfrey Eldon
marries Mu timer's daughter ; you are at liberty
to believe, if you like, that he would have
married her just the same if she hadn't had a
penny. The old fellow is flattered. They see
the hold they have, and stickto him like leeches.
All for want of money, of course. Our aristocrats
begin to see that they can't get on without
24 DEMOS
money nowadays ; tliey can't live on family
records, and tliey find that people won't toady
to them in the old way just on account of
their name. Why, it began with Eldon's
father — didn't he put his pride in his pocket,
and try to make cash by speculation ? Now I
can respect him : he at all events faced the
facts of the case honestly. The despicable thing
in this Hubert Eldon is that, having got money
once more, and in the dirtiest way, he puts
on the top-sawyer just as if there was nothing
to be ashamed of. If he and his mother were
living in a small way on their few hundreds a
3"ear, he might haw-haw as much as he liked,
and I should only laugh at him ; he'd be a
fool, but an honest one. But catch them doing
that ! Family pride's too insubstantial a thing,
you see. Well, as I said, they illustrate the
natural course of things, the transition from the
old age to the new. If Eldon has sons, they'll
go in for commerce, and make themselves, if
they can, millionaires ; but by that time they'll
dispense with airs and insolence — see if they
don't.'
Adela kept her eyes on the pages before
her, but she was listening intently. A sort of
verisimilitude in the picture drawn by her
Eadical-minded brother could not escape her ;
her thought was troubled. When she spoke
it was without resentment, but gravely.
DEMOS
25
' I don't like this spirit in judging of people.
You know quite well, Alfred, liow easy it is to
see the whole story in quite another way. You
begin by a harsh and worldly judgment, and
it leads you to misrepresent all that follows. I
refuse to believe that Godrey Eldon married
Mrs. Mutimer's daughter for her money.'
Alfred laughed aloud.
' Of course you do, sister Adela ! Women
won't admit such things ; that's tlieir aristocratic
feeling ! '
' And is that, too, worthless and a sham .^
Will that, too, be done away with in the new
age ? '
' Oh, depend upon it ! When women are
educated, they will take the world as it is, and
decline to live on illusions.'
' Then how glad I am to have been left
without education ! '
In the meantime a conversation of a very
lively kind was in progress between Mrs.
Waltham and her visitor Mrs. Mewling. The
latter was a lady whose position much resembled
Mrs. Waltham's : she inhabited a small house
in the village street, and spent most of her time
in going about to hear or to tell some new
thing. She came in this evening with a look
presageful of news indeed.
'I've been to Belwick to-day,' she began,
sitting very close to Mrs. Waltham, whose lap
26 DEMOS
slie kept touching as slie spoke with excited
fluency. ' I've seen Mrs. Yottle. My dear, what
do you think she has told me ? '
Mrs. Yottle was the wife of a legal gentle-
man who had been in Mr. Mutimer's confidence.
Mrs. Waltham at once divined intelhgence
affecting the Eldons.
' What ? ' she asked eagerly.
' You'd never dream such a thing ! what
will come to pass! An unthought-of possi-
bility ! ' She went on crescendo. ' My dear Mrs.
Waltham, Mr. Mutimer has left no will ! '
It was as if an electric shock had passed
from the tips of her fingers into her hearer's
frame. Mrs. Waltham paled.
' That cannot be true ! ' she whispered, in-
capable of utterance above breath.
' Oh, but there's not a doubt of it ! ' Knowing
that the news would be particularly unpalatable
to Mrs. Waltham, she proceeded to dwell upon
it with dancing eyes. ' Search has been going
on since the day of the death : not a corner
that hasn't been rummaged, not a drawer that
hasn't been turned out, not a book in the
library that hasn't been shaken, not a wall
that hasn't been examined for secret doors !
Mr. Mutimer has died intestate ! '
The other lady was mute.
' And shall I tell you how it came about P
Two days before his death, he had his will from
DEMOS 27
Mr. Yottle, saying he wanted to make changes —
probably to execute a new will altogether. My
dear, he destroyed it, and death surprised him
before he could make another.'
' He wished to make changes ? '
' Ah ! ' Mrs. Mewling drew out the ex-
clamation, shaking her raised finger, pursing
her lips. * And of that, too, I can tell you the
reason. Mr. Mutimer was anything but pleased
w^ith young Eldon. That young man, let me
tell you, has been conducting himself — oh,
shockingly ! Now you wouldn't dream of
repeating this ? ' ,
' Certainly not.'
' It seems that news came not so very long-
ago of a certain actress, singer, — something of
the kind, you understand ? Friends thought it
their duty — rightly, of course, — to inform Mr.
Mutimer. I can't say exactly who did it ; but
we know that Hubert Eldon is not regarded
affectionately by a good many people. My
dear, he has been out of Enc^land for more than
a month, living — oh, such extravagance ! And
the moral question, too ! You know — those
women ! Someone, they say, of European
reputation; of course no names are breathed.
For my part, I can't say I am surprised. Young
men, you know ; and particularly young men
of that kind ! Well, it has cost him a pretty
penny ; he'll remember it as long as he lives.'
28 DEMOS
' Then the property will go '
' Yes, to the working people in London ;
the roughest of the rough, they say ! What will
happen? It will be impossible for us to live
here if they come and settle at the Manor.
The neighbourhood will be intolerable. Think
of the rag-tag-and-bobtail they will bring with
them ! '
'But Hubert!' ejaculated Mrs. Waltham,
whom this vision of barbaric onset affected
little in the crashing together of a great airy
castle.
' Well, my dear, after all he still has more
to depend upon than many we could instance.
Probably he will take to the law, — that is, if
he ever returns to England.'
' He is at the Manor,' said Mrs. Waltham,
with none of the pleasure it would ordinarily
have given her to be first with an item of news.
' He came this afternoon.'
' He did ! Who has seen him ? '
' Alfred and Adela passed him on the road.
He was in a cab.'
' I feel for his poor mother. What a meet-
incT it will be ! But then we must remember
that they had no actual claim on the inheritance.
Of course it will be a most grievous disappoint-
ment, but what is life made of? I'm afraid
some people will be anything but grieved. We
must confess that Hubert has not been exactly
DEMOS 29
popular ; and I rather wonder at it ; I'm sure
he might have been if he had hked. Just a
little too — too self-conscious, don't you think ?
Of course it was quite a mistake, but people had
an idea that he presumed on wealth which was
not his own. Well, well, we quiet folk look
on, don't we ? It's rather like a play.'
Presently Mrs. Mewling leaned forward yet
more confidentially.
' My dear, you won't be offended ? You
don't mind a question ? There wasn't anything
definite ? — Adela, I mean.'
' Nothmg, nothing whatever! ' Mrs. Waltham
asserted with vigour.
' Ha ! ' Mrs. Mewling sighed deeply. ' How
relieved I am ! I did so fear ! '
'Nothing whatever,' the other lady re-
peated.
' Thank goodness ! Then there is no need
to breathe a word of those shocking matters.
But they do get abroad so ! '
A reflection Mrs. Mewling was justified in
making.
30
DEMOS
CHAPTEE II.
The cab whicli had passed Adela and her
brother at a short distance from Wanley brought
faces to the windows or door of almost every
house as it rolled through the village street.
The direction in which it was going, the trunk
on the roof, the certainty that it had come from
Agworth station, suggested to everyone that
young Eldon sat within. The occupant had,
however, put up both windows just before
entering the village, and sight of him was not
obtained. Wanley had abundant matter for
gossip that evening. Hubert's return, giving a
keener edge to the mystery of his so long delay,
w^ould alone have sufficed to wagging tongues ;
but, in addition, Mrs. Mewhng w\as on the war-
path, and the intelligence she spread was of a
kind to run like wildfire.
The approach to the Manor was a carriage-
road, obliquely ascending the hill from a point
some quarter of a mile beyond the cottages
which once Iioused Bel wick's abbots. Of the
DEMOS 31
house scarcely a glimpse could be caught till
you were well within the gates, so thickly was
it embosomed in trees. This afternoon it wore
a cheerless face ; most of the blinds were still
down, and the dwelhog might have been un-
occupied, for any sign of human activity that
the eye could catch. There was no porch at
the main entrance, and the heavy nail -studded
door greeted a visitor somewhat sombrely. On
the front of a gable stood the w^ords ' Nisi
Dominus.'
The vehicle drew up, and there descended
a young man of pale countenance, his attire in-
dicating long and hasty travel. He pulled
vigorously at the end of a hanging bell-chain,
and the door was immediately opened by a
man-servant in black. Hubert, for he it was,
pointed to his trunk, and, whilst it was being
carried into the house, took some loose coin
from his pocket. He handed the driver a
sovereign.
' I have no change, sir,' said the man after
examining the coin.
But Hubert had already turned away ; he
merely waved his hand, and entered the house.
For a drive of two miles, the cabman held him-
self tolerably paid.
The hall was dusky, and seemed in need of
fresh air. Hubert threw off his hat, gloves,
and overcoat ; then for the first time spoke to
3^ DEMOS
the servant, who stood in an attitude of ex-
pectancy.
' Mrs. Eldon is at home ? '
' At home, sir, but very unwell. She de-
sires me to say that she fears she may not be
able to see you this evening.'
' Is there a fire anywhere ? '
' Only in the library, sir.'
' I will dine there. And let a fire be lit in
my bedroom.'
' Yes, sir. Will you dine at once, sir ? '
' In an hour. Something hglit ; I don't care
what it is.'
' Shall the fire be lit in your bedroom at
once, sir ? '
' At once, and a hot bath prepared. Come
to the hbrary and tell me when it is ready.'
The servant silently departed. Hubert
walked across the hall, giving a glance here and
there, and entered the library. Nothing had
been altered here since his father's, nay, since
his grandfather's, time. That grandfather — his
name Hubert — had combined strong intellectual
tendencies with the extravagant tastes which
gave his already tottering house the decisive
push. The large collection of superbly-bound
books which this room contained were nearly all
of his purchasing, for prior to his time the Eldons
had not been wont to concern themselves with
things of the mind. Hubert, after walking to
DEMOS 33
the window and looking out for a moment on
a side lawn, pushed a small couch near to the
fireplace, and threw himself down at full length,
his hands beneath his head. In a moment his
position seemed to have become uneasy ; he
turned upon his side, uttering an exclamation
as if of pain. A minute or two and again he
moved, this time with more evident impatience.
The next thing he did was to rise, step to the
bell, and ring it violently.
The same servant appeared.
' Isn't the bath ready .^ ' Hubert asked.
His former mode of speaking had been brief
and decided ; he was now almost imperious.
' I beheve it will be in a moment, sir,' was
the reply, marked, perhaps, by just a little
failure in the complete subservience expected.
Hubert looked at the man for an instant
with contracted brows, but merely said —
' Tell them to be quick.'
The man returned in less than three minutes
with a satisfactory announcement, and Eldon
went upstairs to refresh himself
Two hours later he had dined, with obvious
lack of appetite, and was deriving but slight
satisfaction from a cigar, when the servant
entered with a message from Mrs. Eldon : she
desired to see her son.
Hubert threw his cigar aside, and made a
gesture expressing his wish to be led to his
VOL. I. D
34
DEMOS
mother's room. The man conducted him to
the landing at the head of the first flight of
stairs ; there a female servant was waiting, who,
after a respectful movement, led the way to a
door at a few yards' distance. She opened it
and drew back. Hubert passed into the room.
It was furnished in a very old-fashioned style
— heavily, richly, and with ornaments seemingly
procured rather as evidences of wealth than of
taste ; successive Mrs. Eldons had used it as a
boudoir. The present lady of that name sat
in a great chair near the fire. Though not yet
fifty, she looked at least ten years older ; her
hair had streaks of white, and her thin deli-
cate features were much lined and wasted. It
would not be enough to say that she had
evidently once been beautiful, for in truth she
was so still, with a spiritual beauty of a very rare
type. Just now her face was set in a sternness
which did not seem an expression natural to it ;
the fine lips were much more akin to smiling
sweetness, and the brows accepted with repug-
nance anything but the stamp of thoughtful
charity.
After the first glance at Hubert she
dropped her eyes. He, stepping quickly across
the floor, put his lips to her cheek ; she did
not move her head, nor raise her hand to take
his.
' Will you sit there, Hubert ? ' she said,
DEMOS 35
pointing to a chair which was placed opposite
hers. The resemblance between her present
mode of indicating a wish and her son's way of
speaking to the servant below was very striking ;
even the quahty of their voices had much in
common, for Hubert's was rather high-pitched.
In face, however, the young man did not
strongly evidence their relation to each other :
he was not handsome, and had straight low
brows, which made his aspect at first for-
bidding.
' Why have you not come to me before
this ? ' Mrs. Eldon asked when her son had
seated himself, with his eyes turned upon the
fire.
' I was unable to, mother. I have been
ill.'
She cast a glance at him. There was no
doubting the truth of what he said ; at this
moment he looked feeble and pain-worn.
' Where did your illness come upon you ? '
she asked, her tone unsoftened.
' In Germany. I started only a few hours
after receiving the letter in which you told me
of the death.'
' My other letters you paid no heed to ? '
' I could not reply to them.'
He spoke after hesitation, but firmly, as
one does who has something to brave out.
' It would have been better for you if you
36 DEMOS
had been able, Hubert. Your refusal has cost
you dear.'
He looked up inquiringly.
' Mr. Mutimer,' his mother conthiued, a
tremor in her voice, ' destroyed his will a day
or two before he died.'
Hubert said nothing. His fingers, locked
together before him, twitched a little ; his face
gave no sign.
' Had you come to me at once,' Mrs. Eldon
pursued, ' had you listened to my entreaties, to
my commands ' — her voice rang right queenly
— ' this would not have happened. Mr. Mu-
timer behaved as generously as he always has.
As soon as there came to him certain news of
you, he told me everything. I refused to
believe what people were saying, and he too
wished to do so. He would not write to you
himself; there was one all-sufficient test, he
held, and that was a summons from your
mother. It was a test of your honour, Hubert
— and you failed under it.'
He made no answer.
' You received my letters ? ' she went on to
ask. ' I heard you had gone from England,
and could only hope your letters would be for-
warded. Did you get them .^ '
' With the delay of only a day or two.'
' And deliberately you put me aside ? '
' I did.'
DEMOS 37
She looked at him dow for several moments.
Her eyes grew moist. Then she resumed, in a
lower voice —
' I said nothing of what was at stake, though
I knew. Mr. Mutimer was perfectly open
with me. " I have trusted him imphcitly," he
said, " because I believe him as staunch and
true as his brother. I make no allowances for
what are called young man's follies : he must
be above anything of that kind. If he is not —
well, I have been mistaken in him, and I can't
deal with him as I wish to do." You know
what he was, Hubert, and you can imagine
him speaking those words. We waited. The
bad news was confirmed, and from you there
came nothing. I would not hint at the loss
you were incurring ; of my own purpose I
should have refrained from doing so, and Mr.
Mutimer forbade me to appeal to anything
but your better self. If you would not come
to me because I wished it, I could not involve
you and myself in shame by seeing you yield
to sordid motives.'
Hubert raised his head. A chokini? voice
kept him silent, for a moment only.
' Mother, the loss is nothing to you ; you
are above regrets of that kind ; and for myself,
I am almost glad to have lost it.'
' In very truth,' answered the mother, ' I
care little about the wealth you might have
38 DEMOS
possessed. What I do care for is the loss of all
the hopes I had built upon you. I thought you
honour itself ; I thought you high - minded.
Young as you are, I let you go from me with-
out a fear. Hubert, I would have staked my
life that no shadow of disgrace would ever fall
upon your head! You have taken from me
the last comfort of my age.'
He uttered words she could not catch.
' The purity of your soul was precious to
me,' she continued, her accents strugghng
against weakness ; ' I thought I had seen in
you a love of that chastity without which a man
is nothing ; and I ever did my best to keep
your eyes upon a noble ideal of womanhood.
You have fallen. The simpler duty, the point
of every- da}^ honour, I could not suppose that
you would fail in. From the day when you
came of age, when Mr. Mutimer spoke to you,
saying that in every respect you would be as
his son, and you, for your part, accepted what
he offered, you owed it to him to respect the
lightest of his reasonable wishes. The wish
which was supreme in him you have utterly
disregarded. Is it that you failed to understand
him ? I have thought of late of a way you had
now and then when you spoke to me about
him ; it has occurred to me that perhaps you did
him less than justice. Eegard his position and
mine, and tell me whether you think he could
DEMOS 39
have become so much to us if he had not been
a gentleman in the highest sense of the word.
When Godfrey first of all brought me that pro-
posal from him that we should still remain in
this house, it seemed to me the most impossible
thing. You know what it was that induced me
to assent, and what led to his becoming so
intimate with us. Since then it has been hard
for me to remember that he was not one of our
family. His weak points it was not difficult to
discover ; but I fear you did not understand
what was noblest in his character. Uprightness,
clean-heartedness, good faith — these things he
prized before everything. In you, in one of
your birth, he looked to find them in perfection.
Hubert, I stood shamed before him.'
The young man breathed hard, as if in
physical pain. His eyes were fixed in a wide
absent gaze. Mrs. Eldon had lost all the severity
of her face ; the profound sorrow of a pure and
noble nature was alone to be read there now.
' What,' she contmued — ' what is this class
distinction upon which we pride ourselves ?
What does it mean, if not that our opportu-
nities lead us to see truths to which the eyes of
the poor and ignorant are blind ? Is there
nothing in it, after all — in our pride of birth and
station ? That is what people are saying now-
adays : you yourself have jested to me about
our privileges. You almost make me dread
40 DEMOS
that you were right. Look back at that man,
whom I came to honour as my own father.
He began hfe as a toiler with his hands. Only
a fortnight ago he was telling me stories of his
boyhood, of seventy years since. He was with-
out education ; his ideas of truth and goodness
he had to find within his own heart. Could
anything exceed the noble simplicity of his
respect for me, for you boys. We were poor, but
it seemed to him that we had from naturcwhat
no money could buy. He was wi"ong ; his faith
misled him. No, not wrong with regard to all
of us ; my boy Godfrey was indeed all that he
believed. But think of himself ; what advan-
tage have we over him? I know no longer
what to believe. Oh, Hubert ! '
He left his chair and v/alked to a more
distant part of the room, where he was beyond
the range of lamp and fireliglit. Standing
here, he pressed his hand against his side, still
breathing hard, and with difficulty suppressing
a groan.
He came a step or two nearer.
' Mother,' he said, hurriedly, ' I am still far
from well. Let me leave you : speak to me
again to-morrow.'
Mrs. Eldon made an effort to rise, looking
anxiously into the gloom where he stood. She
was all but standing upright — a thing slie had
not done for a long time — when Hubert sprang
DEMOS 41
towards hei\ seizing her hands, then supporting
her in his arms. Her self-command gave way
at length, and she wept.
Hubert placed her gently in the chair and
knelt beside her. He could find no words, but
once or twice raised his face and kissed her.
' What caused your illness ? ' she asked,
speaking as one wearied with suffering. She
lay back, and her eyes were closed.
' I cannot say,' he answered. ' Do not
speak of me. In 3^our last letter there was no
account of how he died.'
' It was in church, at the morning service.
The pew-opener found him sitting there dead,
when all had gone away.'
' But the vicar could see into the pew from
the pulpit ? The death must have been very
peaceful.'
' No, he could not see ; the front curtains
were drawn.'
' Why was that, I wonder ? '
Mrs. Eldon shook her head.
' Are you in pain .^ ' she asked suddenly.
' Why do you breathe so strangely ? '
' A little pain. Oh, nothing ; I will see
Manns to-morrow.'
His mother gazed long and steadily into
his eyes, and this time he bore her look.
' Mother, you have not kissed me,' he whis-
pered.
42 DEMOS
' And cannot, dear. There is too much
between us.'
His head fell upon her lap.
' Hubert ! '
He pressed her hand.
' How shall I live when you have gone from
me again ? When you say good-bye, it will be
as if I parted from you for ever.'
Hubert was silent.
' Unless,' she continued — ' unless I have
your promise that you will no longer dishonour
yourself.'
He rose from her side and stood in front of
the fire ; his mother looked and saw that he
trembled.
' No promise, Hubert,' she said, ' that you
cannot keep. Eather than that, we will accept
our fate, and be nothing to each other.'
' You know very well, mother, that that is
impossible. I cannot speak to you of what
drove me to disregard your letters. I love and
honour you, and shall have to change my
nature before I cease to do so.'
' To me, Hubert, you seem already to have
changed. I scarcely know you.'
' I can't defend myself to you,' he said
sadly. ' We think so differently on subjects
which allow of no compromise, that, even if I
could speak openly, you would only condemn
me the more.'
DEMOS 43
His mother turned upon him a grief-stricken
and wondering face.
' Since when have we differed so ? ' she
asked. ' What has made us strangers to each
other's thoughts ? Surely, surely you are at one
with me in condemning all that has led to this ?
If your character has been too weak to resist
temptation, you cannot have learnt to make
evil your good ? '
He kept silence.
' You refuse me that last hope .^ '
Hubert moved impatiently.
' Mother, I can't see beyond to-day ! I
know nothing of what is before me. It is the
idlest trifling with words to say one will do
this or that, when action in no way depends on
one's own calmer thought. In this moment I
could promise anything you ask ; if I had my
choice, I would be a child again and have no
desire but to do your will, to be worthy in
your eyes. I hate my life and the years that
liave parted me from you. Let us talk no
more of it.'
Neither spoke again for some moments ;
then Hubert asked coldly —
' What has been done ? '
' Nothing,' replied Mrs. Eldon, in the same
tone. ' Mr. Yottle has waited for your return
before communicating with the relatives in
London.'
44 DEMOS
' I will go to Belwick in the morning,' he
said. Then, after reflection, ' Mr. Mu timer
told you that he had destroyed his will ? '
' No. He had it from Mr. Yottle two days
before his death, and on the day after — the
Monday — Mr. Yottle was to have come to receive
instructions for a new one. It is nowhere to
be found : of course it was destroyed.'
' I suppose there is no doubt of that ? '
Hubert asked, with a show of indifference.
' There can be none. Mr. Yottle tells me
that a will which existed before Godfrey's. mar-
riage was destroyed in the same way.'
' Who is the heir ? '
' A great-nephew bearing the same name.
The will contained provision for him and certain
of his family. Wanley is his ; the personal
property will be divided among several.'
' The people have not come forward ? '
' We presume they do not even know of
Mr. Mutimer's death. There has been no
direct communication between him and them
for many years.'
Hubert's next question was, ' What shall
you do, mother?'
' Does it interest you, Hubert ? I am too
feeble to move very far. 1 must find a home
either here in the village or at Ag worth.'
He looked at her with compassion, with
remorse.
DEMOS 45
'And you, my boy?' asked his mother,
raising her eyes gently.
' I ? Oh, the selfish never come to harm, be
sure ! Only the gentle and helpless have to
suffer ; that is the plan of the world's ruling.'
' The world is not ruled by one who thinks
our thoughts, Hubert.'
He had it on his lips to make a rejoinder,
but checked the impulse.
' Say good-night to me,' liis mother con-
tinued. ' You must go and rest. If you still
feel unwell in the morning, a messenger shall
go to Belwick. You are very, very pale.'
Hubert held his hand to her and bent his
head. Mrs. Eldon offered her cheek ; he kissed
it and went from the room.
At seven o'clock on the following mornincf
a bell summoned a servant to Hubert's bed-
room. Though it was daylight, a lamp burned
near the bed ; Hubert lay against pillows
heaped high.
' Let someone go at once for Dr. Manns,'
he said, appearing to speak with difficulty. ' I
wish to see him as soon as possible. Mrs.
Eldon is to know nothing of his visit — you
understand me ? '
The servant withdrew. In rather less than
an hour the doctor made his appearance, with
every sign of having been interrupted in his
46 DEMOS
repose. He was a spare man, full bearded and
spectacled.
' Something wrong ? ' was liis greeting as
he looked keenly at his smnmoner. ' I didn't
know you were here.'
' Yes,' Hubert replied, ' something is con-
foundedly wrong. I have been playing strange
tricks in the night, I fancy.'
'Fever?'
' As a consequence^ of something else. I
shall have to tell you what must be repeated to
no one, as of course you will see. Let me see,
when was it? — Saturday to-day? Ten days
ago, I had a pistol-bullet just here,' — he
touched his right side. ' It was extracted, and
I seemed to be not much the worse. I have
just come from Germany.'
Dr. Manns screwed his face into an expres-
sion of sceptical amazement.
'At present,' Hubert continued, trying to
laugh, ' I feel considerably the worse. I don't
think I could move if I tried. In a few
minutes, ten to one, I shall begin talking
foolery. You must keep people away ; get
what help is needed. I may depend upon you ? '
The doctor nodded, and, whistling low,
began an examination.
47
CHAPTER III.
On tlie dim borderland of Islington and Hoxton,
in a corner made by the intersection of the New
North Road and the Regent's Canal, is dis-
coverable an irregular triangle of small dwelUng-
houses, bearing the name of Wilton Square.
In the midst stands an amorphous structure,
which on examination proves to be a very ugly
house and a still uglier Baptist chapel built
back to back. The pair are enclosed within
iron railings, and, more strangely, a circle of
trees, which in due season do veritably put
forth green leaves. One side of the square
shows a second place of worship, the resort, as
an inscription declares, of ' Welsh Calvinistic
Methodists.' The houses are of one story,
with kitchen windows looking upon small
areas ; the front door is reached by an ascent
of five steps.
The canal — maladetta e sventurata fossa —
stagnating in utter foulness between coal- wharfs
and builders' yards, at this point divides two
48 DEMOS
neighbourhoods of clifFerent aspects. On the
south is Hoxton, a region of malodorous mar-
ket streets, of factories, timber-yards, grimy
warehouses, of alleys swarming with small
trades and crafts, of filthy courts and passages
leading into pestilential gloom ; everywhere
toil in its most degrading forms ; the thorough-
fares thundering with high-laden waggons, the
pavements trodden by working folk of the
coarsest type, the corners and lurking-holes
showing destitution at its ugliest. Walking
northwards, the explorer finds himself in freer
air, amid broader ways, in a district of dwel-
ling-houses only ; the roads seem abandoned
to milkmen, cat's-meat vendors, and coster-
mongers. Here will be found streets in which
every window has its card advertising lodgings ;
others claim a higher respectability, the houses
retreating behind patches of garden-ground,
and occasionally showing plastered pillars and
a balcony. The change is from undisguised
struggle for subsistence to mean and spirit-
broken leisure ; hither retreat the better -paid
of the great slave-army when they are free to
eat and sleep. To walk about a neighbour-
hood such as this is the dreariest exercise to
which man can betake himself; the heart is
crushed by uniformity of decent squalor ; one
remembers that each of these dead-faced houses,
often each separate blind window, represents a
DEMOS 49
' home,' and the associations of the word
whisper blank despair.
Wilton Square is on the north side of the
foss, on the edge of the quieter district, and in
one of its houses dwelt at the time of which I
write the family on whose behalf Fate was at
work in a valley of mid-England. Joseph
Mu timer, nephew to the old man who had
just died at Wanley Manor, had himself been at
rest for some five years ; his widow and three
children still lived together in the home they
had long occupied. Joseph came of a family
of mechanics ; his existence was that of the
harmless necessary artisan. He earned a living
by dint of incessant labour, brought up his
family in an orderly way, and departed with a
certain sense of satisfaction at having fulfilled
obvious duties — the only result of life for which
he could reasonably look. With his children
we shall have to make closer acquaintance ;
but before doing so, in order to understand
their position and follow with intelligence their
several stories, it will be necessary to enter a
little upon the subject of ancestry.
Joseph Mutimer's father, Henry by name,
was a somewhat remarkable personage. He
grew to manhood in the first decade of our
century, and wrought as a craftsman in a Mid-
land town. He had a brother, Eichard, some
ten years his junior, and the two were of such
VOL. I. E
50 DEMOS
different types of character, each so pronounced
in his kind, that, after vain attempts to get along
together, they parted for good, heedless of each
other henceforth, pursuing their sundered des-
tinies. Henry was by nature a political enthu-
siast, of insufficient ballast, careless of the main
chance, of hot and ready tongue ; the Chartist
movement gave him opportunities of action
which he used to the utmost, and he became a
member of the so-called National Convention,
established in Birmingham in 1839. Already
he had achieved prominence by being imprisoned
as the leader of a torch-light procession, and
this taste of martyrdom naturally sharpened his
zeal. He had married young, but only visited
his family from time to time. His wife for the
most part earned her own living, and ultimately
betook herself to London with her son Joseph,
the single survivor of seven children. Henry
pursued his career of popular agitation, sup-
porting himself in miscellaneous ways, writing
his wife an affectionate letter once in six months,
and making himself widely known as an uncom-
promising Eadical of formidable powers. News-
papers of that time mention his name frequently ;
he was always in hot water, and once or twice
narrowl}^ escaped transportation. In 1842 he
took active part in the riots of the Midland
Counties, and at length was unfortunate enough
to get his liead broken. He died in hospital
before any relative could reach him.
DEMOS 51
Eicliard Mutimer regarded with detestation
the principles to which Henry had sacrificed
his Hfe. From childhood he was staid, earnest,
iron-willed ; to whatsoever he put his hand, he
did it thoroughly, and it was his pride to
receive aid from no man. Intensely practical,
he early discerned the truth that a man's first
object must be to secure himself a competency,
seeing that to one who lacks money the world
is but a great debtors' prison. To make money,
therefore, was his aim, and anything that inter-
fered with the interests of commerce and in-
dustry from the capitalist's point of view he
deemed unmitigated evil. When his brother
Henry was leading processions and preaching
the People's Charter, Eichard enrolled himself
as a special constable, cursing the tumults which
drew him from business, but determined, if he
got the opportunity, to strike a good hard blow
in defence of law and order. Already he was well
on the w^ay to possess a solid stake in the coun-
try, and the native conservatism of his tem-
perament grew stronger as circumstances bent
themselves to his will ; a proletarian conquering
wealth and influence naturally prizes these
things in proportion to the effort their acquisi-
tion has cost him. When he heard of his
brother's death, he could in conscience say
nothing more than ' Serve Jiim right ! ' For all
that, he paid the funeral expenses of the Chartist
E 2
iUili'^RSITY OF ILLlNOrt
tIBRARY
52 DEMOS
— angrily declining an offer from Henry's co-
zealots, who would have buried the martyr at
their common charges — and proceeded to in-
quire after the widow and son. Joseph Mutimer,
already one or two-and-twenty, was in no need
of help ; he and his mother, naturally prejudiced
against the thriving uncle, declared themselves
satisfied with their lot, and desired no further
connection with a relative who was practically
a stranger to them.
So Eichard went on his way and lieaped up
jiches. When already middle-aged he took to
himself a wife, his choice being marked with
characteristic prudence. The woman he wedded
was turned thirty, had no money and few per-
sonal charms, but was a lady. Eichard was
fully able to ajDpreciate education and refine-
ment ; to judge from the course of his later life,
one would have said that he had sought money
only as a means, the end he really aimed at
being the satisfaction of instincts which could
only have full play in a higher social sphere.
No doubt the truth was that success sweetened
his character, and developed, as is so often the
case, those possibilities of his better nature
which a fruitless struggle would have kept in
the germ or altogether crashed. His excellent
wife influenced him profoundly ; at her death
the work was continued by the daughter she
left him. The defects of his earlv education
DEMOS 53
could not of course be repaired, but it is never
too late for a man to go to school to the virtues
which civilise. Eemaining the sturdiest of Con-
servatives, he bowed in sincere humility to
those very claims which the Eadical most
angrily disallows : birth, hereditary station,
recognised gentility — these things made the
strongest demand upon his reverence. Such an
attitude was a testimony to his own capacity
for culture, since he knew not the meaning of
vulgar adulation, and did in truth perceive the
beauty of those qualities to which the unedu-
cated Iconoclast is wholly blind. It was a
joyous day for him when he saw his daughter
the wife of Godfrey Eldon. The loss which so
soon followed was correspondingly hard to bear,
and but for Mrs. Eldon's gentle sympathy he
would scarcely have survived the blow. We
know already how his character had impressed
that lady ; such respect was not lightly to be
won, and he came to regard it as the most
precious thing that life had left him.
But the man was not perfect, and his latest
practical undertaking curiously enough illus-
trated the failing which he seemed most com-
pletely to have outgrown. It was of course a
deplorable error to think of mining in the beau-
tiful valley which had once been the Eldons'
estate. Eichard Mu timer could not perceive
that. He was a very old man, and possibly the
54 DEMOS
instincts of his youth revived as his mind grew
feebler ; he imagined it the greatest kindness
to Mrs. Eldon and her son to increase as much
as possible the value of the property he would
leave at his death. They, of course, could not
even hint to him the pain with which they
viewed so barbarous a scheme ; he did not as
much as suspect a possible objection. Intensely
happy in his discovery and the activity to which
it led, he would have gone to his grave rich in
all manner of content but for that fatal news
which reached him from London, where Hubert
Eldon was supposed to be engaged in sober
study in an interval of University work. Doubt-
less it was this disappointment that caused his
sudden death, and so brought about a state of
things which, could he have foreseen it, would
have occasioned him the bitterest grief.
He had never lost sight of his relatives in
London, and had made for them such modest
provision as suited his viev/^ of the fitness of
things. To leave wealth to young men of the
working class would have seemed to him the
most inexcusable of follies ; if such were to rise
at all, it must be by their own efforts and in
consequence of their native merits ; otherwise,
let them toil on and support themselves honestly.
From secret sources he received information of the
capabilities and prospects of Joseph Mutimer's
children, and the items of his will were regu-
lated accordingly.
DEMOS
55
So we return to the family in Wilton
Square. Let us, before proceeding with the
story, enumerate the younger Mutimers. The
first-born, now aged five-and-twenty, had his
great-uncle's name ; Joseph Mutimer, married,
and no better off in worldly possessions than
when he had only himself to support, came to
regret the coldness with which he had received
the advances of his uncle the capitalist, and
christened his son Eichard, with half a hope
that some day the name might stand the boy
in stead. Eichard was a mechanical engineer,
employed in certain ironworks where hydraulic
machinery was made. The second child was a
girl, upon whom had been bestowed the names
Alice Maud, after one of the Queen's daughters;
on which account, and partly with reference to
certain personal characteristics, she was often
called ' the Princess.' Her age was nineteen,
and she had now for two years been employed
in the show-rooms of a City warehouse. Last
comes Henry, a lad of seventeen ; he had been
suffered to aim at higher things than the rest of
the family. In the industrial code of prece-
dence the rank of clerk is a step above that of
mechanic, and Henry — known to relatives and
friends as 'Arry — occupied the proud position
of clerk in a drain-pipe manufactory.
56 DEMOS
CHAPTER IV.
At ten o'clock on tlie evening of Easter Sun-
day, Mrs. Mutimer was busy preparing supper.
She liad laid the table for six, had placed at
one end of it a large joint of cold meat, -at the
other a vast rice-pudding, already diminished
by attack, and she was now slicing a conglome-
rate mass of cold potatoes and cabbage prior
to heating it in the frying-pan, which hissed
with melted dripping just on the edge of the
fire. The kitchen was small, and everywhere
reflected from some bright surface either the
glow of the open grate or the yellow lustre of
the gas-jet ; red curtains drawn across the
window added warmth and homely comfort to
the room. It was not the kitchen of pinched
or slovenly working folk ; the air had a scent
of cleanliness, of freshly scrubbed boards and
polished metal, and the furniture was super-
abundant. On the capacious dresser stood or
hung utensils innumerable ; cupboards and
DEMOS 57
chairs had a struggle for wall space ; every
smallest object was in the place assigned to it
by use and wont.
The housewife was an active woman of some-
thing less than sixty ; stout, fresh-featured, with
a small keen eye, a firm mouth, and the look
of one who, conscious of responsibilities, yet
feels equal to them ; on the whole a kindly
and contented face, if lacking the suggestive-
ness which comes of thought. At present she
seemed on the verge of impatience ; it was
supper time, but her children lingered.
' There they are, and there they must wait, I
s'pose,' she murmured to herself as she finished
slicing the vegetables and went to remove the
pan a little from the fire.
A knock at the house door called her up-
stairs. She came down again, followed by a
young girl of pleasant countenance, though
pale and anxious-looking. The visitor's dress
was very plain, and indicated poverty ; she wore
a long black jacket, untrimmed, a boa of cheap
fur, tied at the throat with black ribbon, a hat
of grey felt, black cotton gloves.
' No one here?' she asked, seeing the empty
kitchen.
' Goodness knows where they all are. I
s'pose Dick's at his meeting ; but Alice and
'Arry had ought to be back by now. Sit you
down to the table, and I'll put on [^the vege-
58 DEMOS
tables ; there's no call to wait for them. Only
I ain't got the beer.'
' Oh, but I didn't mean to come for supper,'
said the girl, whose name was Emma Vine. ' I
only ran in to tell you poor Jane's down again
with rheumatic fever.'
Mrs. Mutimer was holding the frying-pan
over the fire, turning the contents over and
over with a knife.
' You don't mean that ! ' she exclaimed,
looking over her shoulder. 'Why, it's the
fifth time, ain't it ? '
' It is indeed, and worse to get through
every time. We didn't expect she'd ever be
able to walk again last autumn.'
' Dear, dear ! what a thing them rheumatics
is, to be sure ! And you've heard about Dick,
haven't you ? '
' Heard what ? '
' Oh, I thought maybe it had got to you.
He's lost his work, that's all.'
'Lost his work?' the girl repeated, with
dismay. ' Why ? '
' Why ? What else had he to expect ?
'Tain't likely they'll keep a man as goes about
making all his mates discontented and calhng
his employers names at every street corner.
I've been looking for it every week. Yesterday
one of the guvnors calls him up and tells him —
just in a few civil w^ords — as perhaps it'ud be
DEMOS 59
better for all parties if he'd liad a place where
he was more satisfied. " Well an' good,*' says
Dick — you know his way — and there he is.'
The 2[irl had seated herself, and listened to
this story with downcast eyes. Courage seemed
to fail her ; she drew a long, quiet sigh. Her
face was of the kind that expresses much
sweetness in irregular features. Her look was
very honest and gentle, with pathetic meanings
for whoso had the eye to catch them ; a pecu-
liar mobility of the lips somehow made one
think that she had often to exert herself to
keep down tears. She spoke in a subdued voice,
always briefly, and with a certain natural re-
finement in the use of uncultured language.
When Mrs. Mutimer ceased, Emma kept silence,
and smoothed the front of her jacket with an
unconscious movement of the hand.
Mrs. Mutimer glanced at her and showed
commiseration.
'Well, well, don't you worrit about it,
Emma,' she said; 'you've quite enough on your
hands. Dick don't care — not he ; he couldn't
look more high-flyin' if someone had left him a
fortune. He says it's the best thing as could
happen. Nay, I can't explain ; he'll tell you
plenty soon as he gets in. Cut yourself some
meat, child, do, and don't wait for me to help
you. See, I'll turn you out some potatoes ;
you don't care for the greens, I know.'
6o DEMOS
The fry had hissed vigorously whilst this
conversation went on ; the results were brown
and unctuous.
' Now, if it ain't too bad ! ' cried the old
woman, losing self-control. ' That 'Arry gets
later every Sunday, and he knows very well as
I have to wait for the beer till he comes.'
' I'll fetch it,' said Emma, rising.
' You indeed ! I'd hke to see Dick if he
caught me a-sending you to the pubhc-house.'
' He won't mind it for once.'
' You get on with your supper, do. It's
only my fidgetiness ; I can do very well a bit
longer. And Alice, where's she off to, I
wonder ? What it is to have a girl that age !
I wish they was all like you, Emma. Get on
with your supper, I tell you, or you'll make me
angry. Now, it ain't no use taking it to 'eart
in that way. I see what you're worritin'
over. Dick ain't the man to be out o' work
long.'
'But won't it be the same at his next
place ? ' Emma inquired. She was trying to eat,
but it was a sad pretence.
' Nay, there's no telling. It's no good my
talkin' to him. Why don't you see what you
can do, Emma .^ 'Tain't as if he'd no one but
his own self to think about. Don't you think
you could make him see that ? If anyone has
a right to speak it's you. Tell him as he'd
DEMOS 6r
ought to have a bit more thought. It's wait,
wait, wait, and likely to be if things go on like
this. Speak up and tell him as '
' Oh, I couldn't do that!' murmured Emma.
'Dick knows best.'
She stopped to listen ; there was a noise
above as of people entering the house.
' Here they come at last,' said Mrs. Muti-
mer. ' Hear him laughin' ? Now, don't you
be so ready to laugh with him. Let him see as
it ain't such good fun to everybody.'
Heavy feet tramped down the stone stairs,
amid a sound of loud laui^hter and excited talk.
The next moment the kitchen door was thrown
open, and two young men appeared. The one
in advance was Eichard Mutimer ; behind him
came a friend of the family, Daniel Dabbs.
' Well, what do you think of this ? ' Eichard
exclaimed as he shook Emma's hands rather
carelessly. ' Mother been putting you out of
spirits, I suppose ? Why, it's grand ; the best
thing that could have happened ! What a meet-
ing we've had to-night ! What do you say, Dan? '
Eichard represented — too favourably to
make him anything but an exception — the best
qualities his class can show. He was the English
artisan as we find him on rare occasions, thel
issue of a good strain which has managed tof
procure a sufficiency of food for two or three
generations. His physique was admirable ;
62 DEMOS
little short of six feet in stature, lie liad shapely
shoulders, an erect well-formed head, clean
strong limbs, and a bearing which in natural
ease and dignity matched that of the picked
men of the upper class — those fine creatures
whose career, from public school to regimental
quarters, is one exclusive course of bodily train-
ing. But the comparison, on the whole, was to
Eichard's advantage. By no possibility could he
have assumed that aristocratic vacuity of visage
which comes of carefully induced cerebral
atrophy. The air of the workshop suffered
little colour to dwell upon his cheeks ; but to
features of so pronounced and intelligent a type
this pallor added a distinction. He had dark
brown hair, thick and long, and a cropped
beard of hue somewhat lighter. His eyes were
his mother's — keen and direct ; but they had
small variety of expression ; you could not
imagine them softening to tenderness, or even
to thoughtful dreaming. Terribly wide awake,
they seemed to be always looking for the weak
points of whatever they regarded, and their
brightness was not seldom suggestive of malice.
His voice was strong and clear ; it would ring
out well in public places, which is equivalent to
saying that it hardly invited too intimate confer-
ence. You will take for granted that Eichard
displayed, alike in attitude and tone, a distinct
consciousness of his points of superioiity to the
DEMOS 63
men among whom lie lived ; probably he more
than suspected that he could have held his own
in spheres to which there seemed small chance
of his being summoned.
Just now he showed at once the best and the
weakest of his points. Coming in a state of ex-
altation from a meeting'of which he had been
tlie eloquent hero, such light as was within him
flashed from his face freely ; all the capacity
and the vigour which impelled him to strain
against the strait bonds of his lot set his body
quivering and made music of his utterance. At
the same time, his free movements passed easily
into swagger, and as he talked on the false
notes were not few. A working man gifted
with brains and comeliness must, be sure of it,
pay penalties for his prominence.
Quite another man was Daniel Dabbs : in
him you saw the proletarian pure and simple.
He was thick-set, square-shouldered, rolling in
gait; he walked with head bent forward and
eyes glancing uneasily, as if from lack of self-
confidence. His wiry black hair shone w^ith
grease, and no accuracy of razor-play would
make his chin white. A man of immense
strength, but bull-necked and altogether un-
gainly— his heavy fist, with its black veins and
terrific knuckles, suggested primitive methods
oF settling dispute ; the stumpy fingers, engrimed
hopelessly, and the filthy broken nails, showed
64 DEMOS
how he wrought for a Hving. His face, if you
examined it without prejudice, was not ill to
look upon ; there was much good humour about
the mouth, and the eyes, shrewd enough, could
glimmer a kindly light. His laughter was roof-
shaking — always a good sign in a man.
' And what have you got to say of these
fine doings, Mr. Dabbs ? ' Mrs. Mutimer asked
him.
'Why, its hke this 'ere, Mrs. Mutimer,'
Daniel began, having seated himself, with hands
on widely-parted knees. ' As far as the theory
goes, I'm all for Dick ; any man must be as
knows his two times two. But about the Long-
woods ; well, I tell Dick they've a perfect right
to get rid of him, finding him a dangerous enemy,
vou see. It was all fair and above board. Young-
Stephen Long wood ups an' says — leastways not
in these words, but them as means the same —
says he, " Look 'ere, Mutimer," he says, " we've
no fault to find with you as a workman, but from
what we hear of you, it seems you don't care
much for us as employers. Hadn't you better
find a shop as is run on Socialist principles?"
That's all about it, you see ; it's a case of in-
compatible temperaments ; there's no ill-feelin',
not as between man and man. And that's what
I say, too.'
'Now, Dick,' said Mrs, Mutimer, 'before
yuu begin your sermon, who's a-goin' to fetch
my beer ? '
DEMOS 65
'Eight, Mrs. Mutimer ! ' cried Daniel, slap-
ping his leg. ' That's what I call coming from
theory to practice. Beer squares all — leastways
for the time being — only for the time being,
Dick. Where's the jug? Better give me two
jugs ; we've had a thirsty night of it.'
' We'll make capital of this ! ' said Eichard,
walking about the room in Daniel's absence.
' The great point gained is, they've shown
they're afraid of me. We'll write it up in the
paper next week, see if we don't I It'll do us a
sight of good.'
' And where's your weekly wages to come
from .^ ' inquired his mother.
' Oh, I'll look after that. I only wish they'd
refuse me all round ; the more of that kind of
thing the better for us. I'm not afraid but I
can earn my living.'
Through all this Emma Vine had sat with
her thoughtful eyes constantly turned on
Eichard. It was plain how pride struggled
with anxiety in her mind. When Eichard had
kept silence for a moment, she ventured to
speak, having tried in vain to meet his look.
' Jane's ill again, Eichard,' she said.
Mutimer had to summon his thoughts from
a great distance ; his endeavour to look sympa-
thetic was not very successful.
' Not the fever again .^ '
' Yes, it is,' she replied sadly.
VOL. I. F
66 DEMOS
' Going to work in the wet, I suppose ? '
He shrugged his shoulders ; in his present
mood the fact was not so much personally in-
teresting to him as in the light of another case
against capitalism. Emma's sister had to go a
long way to her daily employment, and could
not afford to ride ; the fifth attack of rheumatic
fever was the price she paid for being permitted
to earn ten shillings a week.
Daniel returned with both jugs foaming, his
face on a broad grin of anticipation. There was
a general move to the table. Eichard began to
carve roast beef like a freeman, not by any
means like the serf he had repeatedly declared
himself in the course of the evening's oratory.
' Her Eoyal 'Ighness out ? ' asked Daniel,
with constraint not solely due to the fact that
his mouth Avas full.
' She's round at Mrs. Took's, I should think,'
was Mrs. Mutimer's reply. ^ Staying supper,
per'aps.'
Eichard, after five minutes of surprising
trencher-work, recommenced conversation. The
proceedings of the evening at the hall, which
w^as the centre for Socialist gatherings in this
neighbourhood, were discussed by him and
Daniel with much liveliness. Dan was disposed
to take the meeting on its festive and humorous
side ; for him, economic agitation w^as a mode
oP passing a few hours amid congenial uproar.
DEMOS 67
Wherever stamping and shouting were called
for, Daniel was your rnan. Abuse of employers,
it was true, gave a zest to the occasion, and to
applaud the martyrdom of others was as cheery
an occupation as could be asked ; Daniel had
no idea of sacrificing his own weekly wages,
and therein resembled most of those who had
been loud in uncompromising rhetoric. Eichard,
on the other hand, was unmistakably zealous.
His sense of humour was not strong, and in
any case he would have upheld the serious
dignity of his own position. One saw, from
his way of speaking, that he believed himself
about to become a popular hero ; already in
imagination he stood forth on platforms before
vast assemblies, and heard his own voice de-
nouncing capitalism with force which nothinor
could resist. The first taste of applause had
given extraordinary impulse to his convictions,
and the personal ambition with which they were
interwoven. His grandfather's blood was hot
in him to-night. Henry Mutimer, dying in
hospital of his broken skull, would have found
euthanasia, could he in vision have seen this
worthy descendant entering upon a career in
comparison with which his own was unimportant.
The high-pitched voices and the clatter of
knives and forks allowed a new-comer to enter
the kitchen without being immediately observed.
It was a tall girl of interesting and vivacious
68 DEMOS
appearance ; she wore a dress of tartan, a very
small liat trimmed also with tartan and with a
red feather, a tippet of brown fur about her
shoulders, and a muff of the same material on
one of her hands. Her figure was admirable ;
from the crest of her gracefully poised head to
the tip of her well-chosen boot she was, in hue
and structure, the type of mature woman. Her
face, if it did not indicate a mind to match her
frame, was at the least sweet-featured and pro-
voking ; characterless somewhat, but void of
danger-signals ; doubtless too good to be merely
played with ; in any case, very capable of
sending a ray, in one moment or another-, to the
shadowy dream ing-place of graver thoughts.
Alice Maud Mutimer was nineteen. For two
years she had been thus tall, but the grace of
her proportions had only of late fully determined
itself. Her work in the City warehouse was
unexacting ; she had even a faint impress of
rose-petal on each cheek, and her eye was ex-
cellently clear. Her lips, unfortunately never
quite closed, betrayed faultless teeth. Her
likeness to Eichard was noteworthy; beyond
question she understood the charm of her
presence, and one felt that the consciousness
might, in her case, constitute rather a safe-
guard than otherwise.
She stood with one hand on the door, sur-
veying the table. When the direction of ]\irs.
DEMOS 69
Mutimer's eyes at length caused Eicliard and
Daniel to turn their heads, Alice nodded to each.
' What noisy people ! I heard you out ni
the square.'
She was moving past the table, but Daniel,
suddenly backing his chair, intercepted her.
The girl gave him her hand, and, by way of
being jocose, he squeezed it so vehemently that
she uttered a shrill ' Oh ! '
' Leave go, Mr. Dabbs ! Leave go, I tell
you ! How dare you ? I'll hit you as hard as
I can ! '
Daniel laughed obstreperously.
' Do ! do ! ' he cried. ' What a mighty blow
that 'ud be ! Only the left hand, though. I
shall get over it.'
She wrenched herself away, gave Daniel
a smart slap on the back, and ran round to the
other side of the table, where she kissed Emma
affectionately.
' How thirsty I am ! ' she exclaimed. ' You
haven't drank all the beer, I hope.'
' I'm not so sure of that,' Dan replied.
' W^hy, there ain't more than 'arf a pint ; that's
not much use for a Eoyal 'Ighness.'
She poured it into a glass. Alice reached
across the table, raised the glass to her lips,
and — emptied it. Then she threw off hat, tippet,
and gloves, and seated herself. But in a mo-
ment she was up and at the cupboard.
70 DEMOS
' Now, mother, you don't — you dont say as
there's not a pickle ! '
Her tone was deeply reproachful.
'Why, there now,' replied her mother,
laughing ; ' I knew what it 'ud be ! I meant
to a' got them last night. You'll have to make
shift for once.'
The Princess took her seat with an air of
much dejection. Her pretty lips grew muti-
nous ; she pushed her plate away.
' No supper for me ! The idea of cold meat
without a pickle.'
'What's the time?' cried Daniel. 'Not
closing time yet. I can get a pickle -at the
" Duke's Arms." Give me a glass, Mrs. Mu-
timer.'
Alice looked up slily, half smihng, half
doubtful.
'You may go,' she said. 'I like to see
strong men make themselves useful.'
Dan rose, and was off at once. He re-
turned with the tumbler full of pickled walnuts.
Alice emptied half a dozen into her plate, and
put one of them whole into her mouth. She
would not have been a girl of her class if she
had not rehshed this pungent dainty. Fish of
any kind, green vegetables, eggs and bacon,
with all these a drench of vinegar was indis-
pensable to her. And she proceeded to eat a
supper scarcely less substantial than that which
DEMOS 71
had appeased her brother's appetite. Start
not, dear reader ; the Princess is only a sub-
ordinate heroine, and happens, moreover, to be
a living creature.
'Won't vou take a walnut. Miss Vine?'
Daniel asked, pusliing the tumbler to the quiet
girl, who had scarcely spoken through the
meal.
She declined the offered dainty, and at the
same time rose from the table, saying aside to
Mrs. Mutimer that she must be going.
' Yes, I suppose you must,' was the reply.
' Shall you have to sit up with Jane ? '
' Not all night, I don't expect.'
Eichai'd likewise left his place, and, wh(3n
she offered to bid liim good-night, said that he
would walk a little way with her. In the pas-
sage above, which was gas-lighted, he found
his hat on a nail, and the two left the house
together.
' Don't you really mind ? ' Emma asked,
looking up into his face as they took their way
out of the square.
' Not I ! I can get a job at Baldwiu's any
day. But I dare say I shan't want one long.'
' Not want work P '
He laughed.
* Work ? Oh, plenty of work ; but perhaps
not the same kind. We want men who can
give their whole time to the struggle — to go
72 DEMOS
about lecturing and the like. Of course, it isn't
everybody can do it.'
The remark indicated his belief that he knew
one man not incapable of leading functions.
' And would they pay you ? ' Emma in-
quired, simply.
' Expenses of that kind are inevitable,' he
replied.
Issuing into the New North Eoad, where
there were still many people hastening one way
and the other, they turned to the left, crossed
the canal — black and silent — and were soon
among narrow streets. Every corner brought
a whiff of some rank odour, which stole from
closed shops and warehouses, and hung heavily
on the still air. The public-houses had just
extinguished their lights, and in the neigh-
bourhood of each was a cluster of lingering
men and women, merry or disputatious. Mid-
Easter was inviting repose and festivity ; to-
morrow would see culmination of riot, and after
that it would only depend upon pecuniary re-
sources how lonf? the muddled interval between
holiday and renewed labour should drag itself
out.
The end of thek walk was the entrance
to a narrow passage, which, at a few yards' dis-
tance, widened itself and became a street of
four-storeyed houses. At present this could not
be discerned ; the passage was a mere opening
DEMOS 73
into massive darkness. Eichard had just been
making inquiries about Emma's sister.
' You've had the doctor ? '
'Yes, we're obliged; she does so dread
going to the hospital again. Each time she's
longer in getting well.'
Eichard's hand was in his pocket ; he drew
it out and pressed something against the girl's
palm.
' Oh, how can I ? ' she said, dropping her
eyes. ' No — don't — I'm ashamed.'
' That's all right,' he urged, not unkindly.
' You'll have to get her what the doctor orders,
and it isn't likely you and Kate can afford it.'
' You're always so kind, Eichard. But I
am — I am ashamed ! '
' I say, Emma, why don't you call me Dick ?
I've meant to ask you that many a time.'
She turned her face away, moving as if
abashed.
' I don't know. It sounds — perhaps I want
to make a difference from what the otliers call
you.'
He laughed with a sound of satisfaction.
' Well, you mustn't stand here ; it's a cold
night. Try and come Tuesday or Wednesday.'
' Yes, I will.'
' Good night ! ' he said, and, as he held her
hand, bent to the lips which were ready.
Emma walked along the passage, and for
74 DEMOS
some distance up the middle of the street.
Then she stopped and looked up at one of the
black houses. There were lights, more or less
curtain-dimmed, in nearly all the windows.
Emma regarded a faint gleam in the topmost
storey. To that she ascended.
Mutimer walked homewards at a quick step,
whistling to himself A latch-key gave him ad-
mission. As he went down the kitchen stairs,
he heard his m^other's voice raised in answer, and
on opening the door he found that Daniel had
departed, and that the supper table was already
cleared. Alice, her feet on the fender and
her dress raised a little, was engaged in warm-
ing herself before going to bed. The object of
Mrs. Mutimer's chastisement was the youngest
member of the family, known as 'Arry ; even
Eichard, who had learnt to be somewhat care-
ful in his pronunciation, could not bestow the
aspirate upon his brother's name. Henry, aged
seventeen, promised to do credit to the Mutimers
in physical completeness ; already he was nearly
as tall as his eldest brother ; and, even in his
lankness, showed the beginnings of well-propor-
tioned vigour. But the shape of his head, which
was covered with hair of the hghtest hue, did
not encourage hope of mental or moral quahties.
It was not quite fair to judge his face as seen
at present : the vacant grin of half timid, half
insolent, resentment made him considerably
DEMOS 75
more simian of visage than was the case under
ordinary circumstances. But the features were
unpleasant to look upon ; it was Eichard's face,
distorted and enfeebled with impress of sensual
instincts.
' As long as you live in this house, it shan't
go on,' his mother was saying. ' Sunday or
Monday, it's no matter ; you'll be home before
eleven o'clock, and you'll come home sober.
You're no better than a pig ! '
'Arry was seated in a far corner of the room,
where he had dropped his body on entering.
His attire was such as the cheap tailors turn
out in imitation of extreme fashions : trousers
closely moulded upon the leg, a buff waistcoat,
a short coat with pockets everywhere. A very
high collar kept his head up against his will ;
his necktie was crimson, and passed through a
brass ring ; he wore a silver watch-chain, or
what seemed to be such. One hand was gloved,
and a cane lay across his knees. His attitude
was one of relaxed muscle?, his legs very far
apart, his body not quite straight.
' What d' you call sober, I'd like to know ? '
he rephed, with looseness of utterance. 'I'm
as sober 's anybody in this room. If a chap
can't go out with 's friends 't Easter an' all ? '
' Easter, indeed ! It's getting to be a regu-
lar thing, Saturday and Sunday. Get up and
76 DEMOS
go to bed ! I'll have my say out with you in
the morning, young man.'
' Go to bed ! ' repeated the lad with scorn.
' Tell you I ain't had no supper.'
Eichard had walked to the neighbourhood
of the fireplace, and was regarding his brother
with anger and contempt. At this point of the
dialogue he interfered.
' And you won't have any, either, that I'll
see to ! What's more, you'll do as your mother
bids you, or I'll know the reason why. Go
upstairs at once ! '
It was not a command to be disregarded.
'Arry rose, but half-defiantly.
' What have you got to do with it ? You're
not my master.'
' Do you hear what I say .^ ' Eichard ob-
served, yet more autocratically. ' Take your-
self off, and at once ! '
The lad growled, hesitated, but approached,
the door. His motion was slinking ; he could
not face Eichard's eye. They heard him stumble
up the stairs.
77
CHAPTER V.
Ox ordinary days Richard of necessity rose
early ; a holiday did not lead him to break the
rule, for free hours were precious. He had his
body well under control ; six hours of sleep he
found sufficient to keep him in health, and
temptations to personal ease, in whatever form,
he resisted as a matter of principle.
Easter Monday found him down-stairs at
half-past six. His mother would to-day allow
herself another hour. 'Arry would be down
just in time for breakfast, not daring to be late.
The Princess might be looked for some
time in the course of the morning ; she was
licensed.
Richard, for purposes of study, used the
front parlour. In drawing up the bhnd, he
disclosed a room precisely resembliug in essen-
tial features hundreds of front parlours in that
neighbourhood, or, indeed, in any working-class
district of London. Everything was clean ;
most things were bright-hued or glistening of
78 DEMOS
surface. There was the gilt-framed mirror over
the mantelpiece, with a yellow clock — whicli
did not go — and glass ornaments in front.
There was a small round table before the win-
dow, supporting wax fruit under a glass case.
There was a hearthrug with a dazzling pattern
of imaginary flowers. On the blue cloth of the
middle table were four showily-bound volumes,
arranged symmetrically. On the head of the
sofa lay a covering worked of blue and yellow
Berlin wools. Two arm-chairs were draped
with long white antimacassars, ready to slip off
at a touch. As in the kitchen, there was a
smell of cleanliness, — of furniture polish, hearth-
stone, and black-lead.
I should mention the ornaments of the walls.
The pictures were : a striking landscape of the
Swiss type, an engraved portrait of Garibaldi,
an unframed view of a certain insurance office,
a British baby on a large scale from the Christmas
number of an illustrated paper.
The one singular feature of the room was
a small, glass-doored bookcase, full of volumes.
They were all of Kichard's purchasing ; to
survey tliem was to understand the man, at all
events on his intellectual side. Without excep-
tion they belonged to that order of literature
which, if studied exclusively and for its own
sake, — as here it was, — brands a man indelibly,
declaring at once the incompleteness of his
DEMOS 79
education and the deficiency of his instincts.
Social, pohtical, religious, — under these three
heads the volumes classed themselves, and each
class was represented by productions of the
' extreme ' school. The books which a bright
youth of fair opportunities reads as a matter
of course, rejoices in for a year or two, then
throws aside for ever, were here treasured to
be the guides of a lifetime. Certain writers of
the last century, long ago become only histori-
cally interesting, were for Eichard an armoury
whence he girded himself for the battles of the
day ; cheap reprints of translations of Malthus,
of Eobert Owen, of Volney \s ' Euins,' of Thomas
Paine, of sundry works of Voltaire, ranked upon
his shelves. Moreover, there was a large col-
lection of pamphlets, titled wonderfully and of
yet more remarkable contents, the authoritative
utterances of contemporary gentlemen — and/
ladies — who made it the end of their existencel
to prove : that there cannot b}^ any possibility
be such a person as Satan ; that the story of
creation contained in the Book of Genesis is on
no account to be received ; that the begetting of
children is a most deplorable oversight ; that to
eat flesh is wholly unworthy of a civilised being ;
that if every man and woman performed their
quota of the world's labour it would be necessary
to work for one hour and thirty-seven minutes
daily, no jot longer, and that the author^ in
8o DEMOS
each case, is tlie one person capable of restoring
dignity to a down-trodden race and happiness
to a blasted universe. Alas, alas ! On this
food had Eichard Mutimer pastured his soul
since he grew to manhood, on this and this
only. English literature was to him a sealed
volume ; poetry he scarcely knew by name ; of
history he was worse than ignorant, having
looked at this period and that through distorting
media, and congratulating himself on his clear
vision because he saw men as trees walking ;
/ the bent of his mind would have led him to
natural science, but opportunities of instruction
were lacking, and the chosen directors of his
prejudice taught him to regard every fact, every
discovery, as/^?/- or against something.
A library of pathetic significance, the in-
dividual alone considered. Viewed as represen-
tative, not without alarming suggestiveness to
those who can any longer trouble themselves
about the w^orld's future. One dreams of the
age when free thought — in the popular sense —
will have become universal, when art shall have
lost its meaning, worship its holiness, when the
Bible will only exist in ' comic ' editions, and
Shakespeare be downcried by ' most sweet
voices' as a mountebank of reactionary ten-
dencies.
Richard was to lecture on the ensuing
Sunday at one of the branch meeting-places of
DEMOS 8r
his society ; he engaged himseU' this morning
in collecting certain data of a statistical kind.
He was still at his work when the sound of the
postman's knock began to be heard in the
square, coming from house to house, drawing
nearer at each repetition. Eichard paid no heed
to it ; he expected no letter. Yet it seemed
there was one for some member of the family ;
the letter-carrier's regular tread ascended the
five steps to the door, and then two small
thunder-claps echoed through the house. There
was no letter-box ; Eichard went to answer the
knock. An envelope addressed to himself in a
small, formal hand.
His thouglits still busy with other things,
he opened the letter mechanically as he re-
entered the room. He had never in his life
been calmer ; the early hour of study had kept
his mind pleasantly active whilst his breakfast
appetite sharpened itself. Never was man less
prepared to receive startling intelligence.
He read, then raised his eyes and let them
stray from the papers on the table to the wax-
fruit before the window, thence to the young
leafage of the trees around the Baptist Chapel.
He was like a man whose face had been over-
flashed by lightning. He read again, then, hold*
ing the letter behind him, closed his right hand
upon his beard with thoughtful tension. He
read a third time, then returned the letter to
VOL. I. G
82 DEMOS
its envelope, put it in his pocket, and sat down
again to his book.
He was summoned to breakfast in ten
minutes. His mother was alone in the kitchen ;
she gave him his bloater and his cup of coffee,
and he cut himself a sohd slice of bread and
butter.
' Was the letter for you ? ' she asked.
He replied with a nod, and fell patiently to
work on the dissection of his bony delicacy.
In five minutes Henry approached the table
with a furtive glance at his elder brother. But
Eichard had no remark to make. The meal
proceeded in silence.
When Eichard had finished, he rose and
said to his mother —
'Have you that railway-guide I brought
home a w^eek ago ? '
' I believe I have somewhere. Just look in
the cupboard.'
The guide was found. Eichard consulted
it for a few moments.
' I have to go oat of London,' he then ob-
served. ' It's just possible I shan't get back
to-night.'
A little talk followed about the arrangements
of the day, and whether anyone was likely to
be at home for dinner. Eichard did not show
much interest in the matter ; he went upstairs
whistlino' and chaDc^ed the clothin2[ he wore for
DEMOS 83
his best suit. In a quarter of an liou?' he had
left the house.
He did not return till the eveninir of tlie
following day. It was presumed that he had
gone ' after a job.'
When he reached home his mother and
Alice were at tea. He walked to the kitchen
fireplace, turned his back to it, and gazed with
a peculiar expression at the two who sat at table.
' Dick's got work,' observed Alice, after a
glance at him. ' I can see that in his face.'
' Have you, Dick .^ ' asked Mrs. Mu timer.
' I have. Work likely to last.'
'So we'll hope,' commented his mother.
' Where is it ? '
' A good way out of London. Pour me a
cup, mother. Where's 'Arry ? '
' Gone out, as usual.'
' And why are you having tea witli your
hat on. Princess ? '
' Because I'm in a hurry, if you must know
everything.'
Eichard did not seek further information.
He drank his tea standing. In five minutes
Alice had bustled away for an evening with
friends. Mrs. Mutimer cleared the table witli-
out speaking.
'Now get your sewing, mother, and sit
down,' began Eichard. ' I want to have a talk
with you.'
84 DEMOS
The mother cast a rather suspicious glance.
There was an impressiveness in the young man's
look and tone which disposed her to obey with-
out remark.
' How long is it,' Eichard asked, when at-
tention waited upon him, ' since you heard any-
thing of father's uncle, my namesake ? '
Mrs. Mutimer's face exhibited the dawning
of intelligence, an unwrinkling here and there,
a shght rounding of the hps.
'- Why, what of him ? ' she asked in an un-
dertone, leaving a needle unthreaded.
' The old man's just dead.'
Agitation seized the listener, agitation of a
kind most unusual in her. Her hands trembled,
her eyes grew wide.
' You haven't heard anything of him lately ? *
pursued Eichard.
' Heard ? Not I. No more did your father
ever since two years afore we was married. I'd
always thought he was dead long ago. What
of him, Dick ? '
' From what I'm told I thought you'd
perhaps been keeping things to yourself.
'T wouldn't have been unlike you, mother.
He knew all about us, so the lawyer tells me.'
'The lawyer.^'
' Well, I'd better out with it. He's died
without a will. His real property — that means
his houses and land — belongs to me ; his per-
DEMOS 8£
sonal property — that's his money — '11 have to
be divided between me, and Alice, and 'Arry.
You're out of the sharing, mother.'
He said it jokingly, but Mrs. Mutimer did
not join in his laugh. Her palms were closely
pressed together ; still trembling, she gazed
straight before her, with a far-off look.
' His houses — his land ? ' she murmured, as
if she had not quite heard. ' What did he want
•with more than one house P '
The absurd question was all that could find
utterance. She seemed to be reflecting on that
point.
' Would you like to hear what it all comes
to ? ' Richard resumed. His voice was unna-
tm^al, forcibly suppressed, quivering at pauses.
His eyes gleamed, and there was a centre of
warm colour on each of his cheeks. He had
taken a note-book from his jDocket, and the
leaves rustled under his tremulous fingers.
' The lawyer, a man called Yottle, just gave
me an idea of the different investments and so
on. The real property consists of a couple of
houses in Belwick, both let, and an estate at a
place called Wanley. The old man had begun
mining there ; there's iron. I've got my ideas
about that. I didn't go into the house ; people
are there still. Now the income.'
He read his notes : So much in railways,
so much averaged yearly from iron-works in
S6 DEMOS
Belwick, so much in foreign securities, so much
disposable at home. Total
' Stop, Dick, stop ! ' uttered his mother, under
her breath. ' Them figures frighten me; I don't
know what they mean. It's a mistake ; they're
leading you astray. Now, mind what I say —
there's a mistake ! No man with all that money
'ud die without a will. You won't get me to
believe it, Dick.'
Eichard laughed excitedly. ' Believe it or
not, mother ; I've got my ears and eyes, I
hope. And there's a particular reason why he
left no will. There was one, but something
— I don't know what — happened just before
his death, and he was going to make a new one.
The will was burnt. He died in church on a
Sunday morning; if he'd lived another day, he'd
have made a new will. It's no more a mistake
than the Baptist Chapel is in the square ! ' A
comparison which hardly conveyed all Eichard's
meaning; but he was speaking in agitation, more
and more quickly, at last almost angrily.
Mrs. Mutimer raised her hand. ' Be quiet
a bit, Dick. It's took me too sudden. I feel
queer like.'
There was silence. The mother rose as if
with difficulty, and drew water in a tea-cup from
the filter. When she resumed her place, her
hands prepared to resume sewing. She looked
up, solemnly, sternly.
DEMOS 87
* Dick, it's bad, bad news ! I'm an old
woman, and I must say what I think. It upsets
me ; it frightens me. I thought he might a' left
you a hundred pounds.'
' Mother, don't talk about it till you've had
time to think,' said Eichard, stubbornly. 'If
this is bad news, what the deuce would you call
good ? Just because I've been born and bred a
mechanic, does that say I've got no common
sense or self-respect ? Are you afraid I shall
go and drink myself to death ? You talk like
the people who make it their business to sneer
at us — the improvidence of the working classes,
and such d d slander. It's good news for
me, and it'll be good news for many another
man. Wait and see.'
The mother became silent, keeping her lips
tight, and struggling to regain her calmness.
She was not convinced, but in argument with
her eldest son she always gave way, affection
and the pride she had in him aiding her instincts
of discretion. In practice she still maintained
something of maternal authority, often gaining
her point by merely seeming offended. To
the two who had not yet reached the year
of emancipation she allowed, in essentials, no
appeal from her decision. Between her and
Richard there had been many a sharp conflict
in former days, invariably ending with the lad's
submission ; the respect which his mother ex-
SS DEMOS
acted he in truth felt to be her due, and it was
now long since they had openly been at issue
on any point. Mrs. Mu timer's views were dis-
tinctly Conservative, and hitherto she had never
taken Eichard's Eadicalism seriously ; on the
whole she had regarded it as a fairly harmless
recreation for his leisure hours — decidedly pre-
ferable to a haunting of public-houses and music-
halls. The loss of his employment caused her
a good deal of uneasiness, but she had not ven-
tured to do more than throw out hints of her
disapproval ; and now, as it seemed, the matter
was of no moment. Henceforth she had far
other apprehensions, but this first conflict of
their views made her reticent.
' Just let me tell you how things stand,'
Eichard pursued, when his excitement had
somewhat subsided ; and he went on to explain
the relations between old Mr. Mutimer and
the Eldons, which in outline had been de-
scribed to him by Mr. Yottle. And then —
' The will he had made left all the property
to this young Eldon, who was to be trustee for
a little money to be doled out to me yearly,
just to save me from ruining myself, of course.'
Eichard's lips curled in scorn. 'I don't know
whether the lawyer thought we ought to offer
to give everything up ; he seemed precious
anxious to make me understand that the old
man had never intended us to have it, and
DEMOS 89
that he ddd want these other people to have it.
Of course, we've nothing to do Avith that.
Luck's hick, and I think I know who'll make
best use of it.'
' Why didn't you tell all this when Alice
was here ? ' inquired his mother, seeming herself
again, though very grave.
'I'll tell you. I thought it over, and it
seems to me it'll be better if Alice and 'Arry
wait a while before they know what'll come to
them. They can't take anything till they're
twenty-one. Alice is a good girl, but '
He hesitated, having caught his mother's
eye. He felt that this prudential course justi-
fied in a measure her anxiety.
' She's a girl,' he pursued, ' and we know
that a girl with a lot o' money gets run after
by men who care nothing about her and a good
deal about the money. Then it's quite certain
'Arry won't be any the better for fancying him-
self rich. He's going to give us trouble as it
is, I can see that. We shall have to take
another house, of course, and we can't keep
them from knowing that there's money fallen to
me. But there's no need to talk about the
figures, and if we can make them think it's only
me that's better off, so much the better. Alice
needn't go to work, and I'm glad of it ; a girl's
proper place is at home. You can tell her you
want her to help in the new house. 'Arry had
90 DEMOS
better keep his place awhile. I shouldn't
wonder if I find work for him myself before
long. I've got plans, but I shan't talk about
them just yet.'
He spoke then of the legal duties which fell
upon him as next-of-kin, explaining the neces-
sity of finding two sureties on taking out letters
of administration. Mr. Yottle had offered him-
self for one ; the other Eichard hoped to find
in Mr. Westlake, a leader of the Socialist
movement.
' You want us to go into a big house ? ' asked
Mrs. Mutimer. She seemed to pay little at-
tention to the wider aspects of the change,
but to fix on the details she could best under-
stand, those which put her fears in palpable
shape.
' I didn't say a big one, but a larger than
this. We're not going to play the do-nothing
gentlefolk ; but all the same our life won't and
can't be what it has been. There's no choice.
You've worked hard all your life, mother, and
it's only fair you should come in for a bit of
rest. We'll find a house somewhere out Green
Lanes way, or in Highbury or Hollo way.'
He laughed again.
' So there's the best of it — the worst of it,
as you say. Just take a night to turn it over.
Most likely I shall go to Belwick again to-
morrow afternoon.'
DEMOS 91
He paused, and liis mother, after bending
her head to bite off an end of cotton, asked —
' You'll tell Emma ? '
' I shall go round to-night'
A little later Eichard left the house for this
purpose. His step was firmer than ever, his
head more upright. Walking along the crowded
streets, he saw nothing ; there was a fixed smile
on his lips, the smile of a man to whom the
world pays tribute. Never having sufiered
actual want, and blessed with sanguine tem-
perament, he knew nothing of that fierce exul-
tation, that wrathful triumph over fate, which
comes to men of passionate mood smitten by
the lightning-flash of unhoped prosperity. At
present he was well-disposed to all men ; even'
against capitalists and ' profitmongers ' he could
not have railed heartily. Capitalists ? Was he
not one himself.^ Aye, but he would prove
himself such a one as you do not meet with
every day ; and the foresight of deeds which
should draw the eyes of men upon him, which
should shout his name abroad, softened his
judgments with the charity of satisfied ambition.
He would be the glorified representative of his
class. He would show the world how a self-
taught working man conceived the duties and
privileges of wealth. He would shame those
dunder-headed, callous-hearted aristocrats, those
ravening bourgeois. Opportunity — what else
92 DEMOS
had he wanted ? No longer would his voice
be lost in petty lecture-halls, answered only
by the applause of a handful of mechanics.
Ere many months had passed, crowds should
throng to hear him ; his gospel would be
trumpeted over the land. To what might he
not attain? The educated, the refined, men
and women
He was at the entrance of a dark passage,
where his feet stayed themselves by force of
habit. He turned out of the street, and walked
more slowly towards the house in which Emma
Vine and her sisters lived. Having reached the
door, he paused, but again took a few paces
forward. Then he came back and rang the
uppermost of ^^^ bells. In waiting, he looked
vaguely up and down the street.
It was Emma herself who opened to him.
The dim light showed a smile of pleasure and
surprise.
* You've come to ask about Jane ? ' she
said. ' She hasn't been quite so bad since last
night.'
' I'm glad to hear it. Can I come up r '
' Will you ? '
He entered, and Emma closed the door. It
was pitch dark.
' I wish I'd brought a candle down,' Emma
said, moving back along the passage. ' Mind,
there's a pram at the foot of the stairs.'^
DEMOS 93
The perambulator was avoided successfully
by both, and they ascended the bare boards of
the staircase. On each landing prevailed a
distinct odour ; first came the damp smell of
newly-washed clothes, then the scent of fried
onions, then the work-room of some small
craftsman exhaled varnish. The topmost floor
seemed the purest ; it was only stuffy.
Eichard entered an uncarpeted room which
had to serve too many distinct purposes to allow
of its being orderly in appearance. In one
corner was a bed, where two little children lay
asleep ; before the window stood a sewing-
macliine, about which was heaped a quantity gf
linen ; a table in the midst was half covered
with a cloth, on which was placed a loaf and
butter, the other half being piled with several
dresses requiring the needle. Two black patches
on the low ceiling showed in what positions the
lamp stood by turns.
Emma's eldest sister was moving about the
room. Hers were the children ; her husband
had been dead a year or more. She was about
thirty years of age, and had a slatternly appear-
ance ; her face was peevish, and seemed to
grudge the half-smile with which it received
the visitor.
' You've no need to look round you,' she
said. ' We're in a regular pig-stye, and likely
to be. Where's there a chair ? '
94 DEMOS
She shook some miscellaneous articles on to
the floor to provide a seat.
' For mercy's sake don't speak too loud, and
wake them children. Bertie's had the ear-
ache ; he's been crying all day. What with
hhn and Jane, we've had a blessing, I can tell
you. Can I put these supper things away,
Emma?'
' I'll do it,' was the other's reply. ' Won't
you have a bit more, Kate ? '
' I've got no mind for eating. Well, you
may cut a slice and put it on the mantelpiece.
I'll go and sit with Jane.'
Eichard sat and looked about the room
absently. The circumstances of his own family
had never fallen below the point at which it is
possible to have regard for decency ; the grow-
ing up of himself and of his brothers and sister
had brought additional resources to meet ex-
tended needs, and the Mutimer characteristics
had formed a safeguard against improvidence.
He was never quite at his ease in this poverty-
cumbered room, which he seldom visited.
' You ought to have a fire,' he said.
' There's one in the other room,' replied
Kate. ' One has to serve us.'
' But you can't cook there.'
' Cook ? We can boil a potato, and that's
about all the cooking we can do now-a-days.'
She moved to the door as she spoke, and,
DEMOS 95
before leaving the rooiii, took advantage of
EicharcVs back being turned to make certain
exhortatory signs to her sister. Emma averted
her head.
Kate closed the door behind her. Emma,
having removed the eatables to the cupboard,
came near to Eichard and placed her arm
gently upon his shoulders. He looked at her
kindly.
' Kate's been so put about with Bertie,' she
said, in a tone of excuse. ' And she was up
nearly all last night.'
' She never takes things like you do,'
Eichard remarked.
' She's got more to bear. There's the chil-
dren always making her anxious. She took
Alf to the hospital this afternoon, and the
doctor says he must have — I forget the name,
somebody's food. But it's two and ninepence
for ever such a little tin. They don't think as
his teeth '11 ever come.'
' Oh, I dare say they will,' said Eichard en-
couragingly.
He had put his arm about her. Emma
knelt down by him, and rested her head against
his shoulder.
' I'm tired,' she whispered. ' I've had to
go twice to the Minories to-day. I'm so afraid
I shan't be able to hold my eyes open with
Jane, and Kate's tireder still.'
96 DEMOS
She did not speak as if seeking for sympa-
thy ; it was only the natural utterance of her
thoughts in a moment of restful confidence.
Uttermost weariness was a condition too fami-
liar to the girl to be spoken of in any but a
patient, matter-of-fact tone. But it was price-
less soothing to let her forehead repose against
the heart whose love was the one and sufficient
blessing of her life. Her brown hair was very
soft and fine ; a lover of another kind would
have pressed his hps upon it. Eichard was
thinking of matters more practical. At an-
other time his indignation — in such a case right
good and manful — would have boiled over at
the thought of these poor women crushed in
slavery to feed the world's dastard selfishness ;
this evening his mood was more complaisant,
and he smiled as one at ease.
'Hadn't you better give up your work? ' he
said.
Emma raised her head. In the few mo-
ments of repose her eyelids had drooped with
growing heaviness ; she looked at him as if
she had just been awakened to some great
surprise.
' Give up work ? How can I ? '
' I think I would. You'd have more time
to give to Jane, and you coukl sleep in the day.
And Jane had better not begin again after this.
Don't you think it would be better if you left
DEMOS 97
these lodgings and took a house, where there'd
be plenty of room and fresh air ? '
' Eichard, what are you talking about ? '
He laughed, quietly, on account of the sleep-
ing children.
' How would you like,' he continued, ' to go
and live in the country ? Kate and Jane could
have a house of their own, you know — in
London, I mean, a house like ours ; they could
let a room or two if they chose. Then you and
I could go where we liked. I was down in the
Midland Counties yesterday ; had to go on
business ; and I saw a house that would just
suit us. It's a bit large; I dare say there's
sixteen or twenty rooms. And there's trees
growing all about it ; a big garden '
Emma dropped her head again and laughed,
happy th^ Eichard should jest with her so good-
humouredly ; for he did not often talk in the
lighter way. She had read of such houses in
the weekly story-papers. It must be nice to
live in them ; it must be nice to be a denizen
of Paradise.
' I'm in earnest, Emma.'
His voice caused her to gaze at him again.
' Bring a chair,' he said, ' and 111 tell you
something that'll — keep you awake.'
The insensible fellow ! Her sweet, pale,
wondering face was so close to his, the warmth
VOL. T. H
98 DEMOS
of her drooping frame was against his heart —
and he bade her sit apart to listen.
She placed herself as he desired, sitting with
her hands together in her lap, her countenance
troubled a little, wishing to smile, yet not quite
venturing. And he told his story, told it in all
details, with figures that filled the mouth, that
rolled forth like gold upon the bank-scales.
' This is mine,' he said, ' mine and yours.'
Have you seen a child listening to a long
fairy tale, every page a new adventure of
wizardry, a story of elf, or mermaid, or
gnome, of treasures underground guarded by
enchanted monsters, of bells heard silverly in
the depth of old forests, of castles against the
sunset, of lakes beneath the quiet moon ?
Know you how light gathers in the eyes dream-
ing on vision after vision, ever more intensely
realised, yet ever of an unknown world ? How,
Avhen at length the reader's voice is silent, the
eyes still see, the ears still hear, until a move-
ment breaks the spell, and with a deep, invo-
luntary sigh the little one gazes here and there,
wondering ?
So Emma listened, and so she came back
to consciousness, looking about the room, in-
credulous. Had she been overcome with weari-
ness ? Had she slept and dreamt I'
One of the children stirred and uttered a
little wailing sound. She stepped lightly to the
DEMOS 99
bedside, bent for a moment, saw that all was
well again, and came back on tip-toe. The
simple duty had quieted her throbbing heart.
She seated herself as before.
' What about the country house now ? ' said
Eichard.
' I don't know what to say. It's more than
I can take into my head.'
' You're not going to say, like mother did,
that it was the worst piece of news she'd ever
heard ? '
' Your mother said that ? '
Emma was startled. Had her thought
passed lightly over some danger? She ex-
amined her mind rapidly.
' I suppose she said it,' Eichard explained,
'just because she didn't know what else to say,
that's about the truth. But there certainly is
one thing I'm a little anxious about, myself. I
don't care for either Alice or 'Arry to know the
details of this windfall. They won't come in
for their share till they're of age, and it's just
as well they should think it's only a moderate
little sum. So don't talk about it, Emma.'
The girl was still musing on Mrs. Mutimer's
remark ; she merely shook her head.
' You didn't think you were going to marry
a man with his thousands and be a lady ? Well,
I shall have more to say in a day or two. But
at present my idea is that mother and the rest
H 2
loo DEMOS
of tliem shall go into a larger bouse, and that
you and Kate and Jane shall take our place. I
don't know how long it'll be before those Eldon
people can get out of Wanley Manor, but as
soon as they do, why then there's nothing to
prevent you and me going into it. Will that
suit you, Em ? '
' We shall really live in that big house ? '
' Certainly we shall. I've got a life's work
before me there, as far as I can see at present.
The furniture belongs to Mrs. Eldon, I believe ;
we'll furnish the place to suit ourselves.'
' May I tell my sisters, Eichard .^ '
' Just tell them that I've come in -for some
money and a house, perhaps that's enough. And
look here, I'll leave you this five-pound note
to go on with. You must get Jane whatever
the doctor says. And throw all that sewing
out of the windows ; we'll have no more convict
labour. Tell Jane to get well just as soon as
it suits her.'
' But— all this money ? '
'I've plenty. The lawyer advanced me
some for present needs. Now it's getting late,
I must go. I'll write and tell you when I shall
be home again.'
He held out his hand, but the girl embraced
him with the restrained tenderness which in her
spoke so eloquently.
' Are you glad, Emma? ' he asked.
DEMOS loi
' Very glad, for your sake.'
* And just a bit for your own, eh ? '
' I never thought about money,' she answered .
* It was quite enough to be your wife.'
It was the simple truth.
DEMOS
CHAPTEE VI.
At eleven o'clock the next morning Eichard
presented himself at the door of a house in
Avenue Eoad, St. John's Wood, and expressed
a desire to see Mr. Westlake. That gentleman
was at home ; he received the visitor in his
study — a spacious room, luxuriously furnished,
with a large window looking upon a lawn.
The day was sunny and warm, but a clear fire
equalised the temperature of the room. There
was an odour of good tobacco, always most
delig:htful when it blends with the scent of rich
bindings.
It was Eichard' s first visit to this house.
A few days ago he would, in spite of himself,
have been somewhat awed by the man-servant
at the door, the furniture of the hall, the air of
refinement in the room he entered. At present
he smiled on everything. Could he not com-
mand the same as soon as he chose ?
Mr. Westlake rose from his writing-table
and greeted his visitor with a hearty grip of
DEMOS 103
the hand. He was a man pleasant to look
upon ; his face, full of intellect, shone with the
light of good- will, and the easy carelessness of
his attire prepared one for the genial sincerity
which marked his way of speaking. He wore
a velvet jacket, a grey waistcoat buttoning up
to the throat, grey trousers, fur-bordered slip-
pers ; his collar was very deep, and instead of
the ordinary shirt -cuffs his wrists w^ere enclosed
in frills. Long-haired, full-bearded, he had the
forehead of an idealist and eyes whose natural
expression was an indulgent smile.
A man of letters, he had struggled from
obscure poverty to success and ample means ;
at three-and-thirty he was still hard pressed to
make both ends meet, but the ten subsequent
years had built for him this pleasant home and
banished his long familiar anxieties to the land
of nightmare. ' It came just in time,' he was
in the habit of saying to those who had his
confidence. ' I was at the point where a man
begins to turn sour, and I should have soured
in earnest.' The process had been most
effectually arrested. People were occasionally
found to say that his books had a tang of
acerbity ; possibly this was the safety-valve at
work, a hint of what might have come had the
old hunger-demons kept up their goading. In
the man himself you discovered an extreme
simphcity of feehng, a frank tenderness, a noble
104 DEMOS
indignation. For one who knew him it was
not dilficult to understand that he should have
taken up extreme social views, still less that he
should act upon his convictions. All his writing
foretold such a possibility, though on the other
hand it exhibited devotion to forms of culture
which do not as a rule predispose to democratic
agitation. The explanation was perhaps too
simple to be readily hit upon ; the man was
himself so supremely happy that with his dis
position the thought of tyrannous injustice
grew intolerable to him. Some incidents
happened to set his wrath blazing, and hence-
forth, in spite of not a little popular ridicule
and much shaking of the head among his
friends, Mr. Westlake had his mission.
' I have come to ask your advice and help,'
be^an Mutimer with directness. He was con-
scions of the necessity of subduing his voice,
and had a certain ])leasure in the ease with
whicli he achieved this feat. It would not
have been so easy a day or two ago.
' Ah, about this awkward affair of yours,'
observed Mr. Westlake with reference to
Kichard's loss of his employment, of which, as
editor of the Union's weekly paper, he had of
course at once been apprised.
'No, not about that. Since then a very
unexpected thing has happened to me.'
The story was once more related, vastly to
DEMOS 105
Mr. Westlake's satisfaction. Cheerful news
concerning his friends always put him in the
best of spirits.
He shook his head, laughing.
' Come, come, Mutimer, this'll never do !
I'm not sure that we shall not have to consider
your expulsion from the Union.'
Eichard went on to mention the matters of
legal routine in which he hoped Mr. West-
lake would serve him. These having been
settled —
' I wish to speak of something more im-
portant,' he said. ' You take it for granted, I
hope, that I'm not going to make the ordinary
use of this fortune. As yet I've only been able
to hit on a few general ideas. I'm clear as to
the objects I shall keep before me, but how
best to serve them wants more reflection. I
thought if I talked it over with you in the first
place '
The door opened, and a lady half entered
the room.
' Oh, I thought you were alone,' she re-
marked to Mr. Westlake. ' Forgive me ! '
' Come in ! Here's our friend Mutimer.
You know Mrs. Westlake ? '
A few words had passed between this lady
and Eichard in the lecture-room a few weeks
before. She was not frequently present at such
meetings, but had chanced, on the occasion
io6 DEMOS
referred to, to hear Mutimer deliver an ha-
rangue.
' You have no objection to talk of your
plans ? Join our council, will you ? ' he
added to his wife. ' Our friend brings interest-
ing news.'
Mrs. Westlake walked across the room to
the curved window-seat. Her age could
scarcely be more than three- or four-and-twenty ;
she was very dark, and her face grave almost
to melancholy. Black hair, cut short at its
thickest behind her neck, gave exquisite relief
to features of the purest Greek type. In
listening to anything that held her attention
her eyes grew large, and their dark orbs seemed
to dream passionately. The white swan's down
at her throat — she was perfectly attired — made
the skin above resemble rich-hued marble,
and indeed to gaze at her long was to be im-
pressed as by the sad lovehness of a supreme
work of art. As Mutimer talked she leaned
forward, her elbow on her knee, the back of
her hand supporting her chin.
Her husband recounted what Eichard had
tokl him, and the latter proceeded to sketch
the projects he had in view.
' My idea is,' he said, ' to make the mines
at Wanley the basis of great industrial under-
takings, just as any capitahst might, but to
conduct these undertakings in a way consistent
DEMOS 107
with our views. I would begin by building
furnaces, and in time add engineering works on
a large scale. I would build houses for the
men, and in fact make that valley an industrial
settlement conducted on Socialist principles.
Practically I can devote the whole of my
income ; my personal expenses will be not
worth taking into account. The men must be
paid on a just scheme, and the margin of profit
that remains, all that we can spare from the
extension of the w^orks, shall be devoted to the
Socialist propaganda. In fact, I should like to
make the executive committee of the Union
a sort of board of directors — and in a very
different sense from the usual — for the Wanley
estate. My personal expenditure deducted, I
should like such a committee to have the
practical control of funds. All this wealth was
made by plunder of the labouring class, and I
shall hold it as trustee for them. Do these
ideas seem to you of a practical colour ? '
Mr. Westlake nodded slowly twice. His
wife kept her listening attitude unchanged ;
her eyes ' dreamed against a distant goal.'
'As I see the scheme,' pursued Eichard,
who spoke all along somewhat in the lecture-
room tone, the result of a certain embarrass-
ment, ' it will differ considerably from the
Socialist experiments we know of We shall
be working not only to support ourselves, but
io8 DEMOS
every bit as much set on profit as any capitalist
in Belwick. The difference is, that the profit
will benefit no individual, but the Cause.
There'll be no attempt to carry out the idea of
every man receiving the just outcome of his
labour ; not because I shouldn't be vrilling to
share in that way, but simply because we have
a greater end in view than to enrich ourselves.
Our men must all be members of the Union,
and their prime interest must be the advance-
ment of the principles of the Union. We
shall be able to establish new papers, to hire
halls, and to spread ourselves over the country.
It'll be fighting the capitalist manufacturers
with their own weapons. I can see plenty
of difficulties, of course. All England '11 be
against us. Never mind, we'll defy them all,
and we'll win. It'll be the work of my life,
and we'll see if an honest purpose can't go as
far as a thievish one.'
The climax would have brought crashing
cheers at Commonwealth Hall ; in Mr. West-
lake's study it was received with well-bred
expressions of approval.
' Well, Mutimer,' exclaimed the idealist,
' all this is intensely interesting, and right
glorious for us. One sees at last a possibility
of action. I ask nothing better than to be
allowed to work with you. It happens very
luckily that you are a practical engineer. I
DEMOS
109
suppose the mechanical details of the under-
taking are entirely within your province ? '
' Not quite, at present,' Mutimer admitted,
' but I shall have valuable help. Yesterday I
had a meeting with a man named Eodman, a
raining engineer, who has been working on
the estate. He seems just the man I shall
want ; a Socialist already, and delighted to join
in the plans I just hinted to him.'
' Capital ! Do you propose, then, that we
shall call a special meeting of the Committee .^
Or would you prefer to suggest a committee of
your own ? '
' No, I think our own committee will do
very well, at all events for the present. The
first thing, of course, is to get the financial
details of our scheme put into shape. I go to
Belwick again this afternoon ; my sohcitor
must get his business thrcuoh as soon as pos-
sible.'
' You will reside for the most part at
Wanley ? '
' At the Manor, yes. It is occupied just
now, but I suppose will soon be free.'
' Do you know that part of the country,
Stella ? ' Mr. Westlake asked of his wife.
She roused herself, drawing in her breath,
and uttered a short negative.
' As soon as I get into the house,' Eichard
resumed to Mr. Westlake, ' I hope you'll come
no
DEMOS
and examine the place. It's unfortunate that
the railway misses it by about three miles, but
Eodman tells me we can easily run a private
line to Agworth station. However, the first
thing is to get our committee at work on the
scheme.' Eichard repeated this phrase with
gusto. ' Perhaps you could bring it up at the
Saturday meeting ? '
' You'll be in town on Saturday ? '
' Yes ; I have a lecture in Ishngton on
Sunday.'
' Saturday w^ill do, then. Is this confi-
dential ? '
' Not at all. We may as well get as much
encouragement out of it as we can. Don't
you think so ? '
"• Certainly.'
Eichard did not give expression to his
thought that a paragraph on the subject in
the Union's weekly organ, the ' Fiery Cross,'
might be the best way of promoting such
encouragement ; but he delayed his departure
for a few minutes with talk round about the
question of the prudence w^hich must necessarily
be observed in publishing a project so undi-
gested. Mr. Westlake, who was responsible
for the paper, was not likely to transgress the
limits of good taste, and when Eichard, on
Saturday morning, searched eagerly the columns
of the ' Cross,' he was not altogether satisfied
DEMOS III
with the extreme discretion which marked a
brief paragraph among those headed : '" From
Day to Day.' However, many of the readers
were probably by that time able to supply the
missing proper-name.
It was not the fault of Daniel Dabbs if
members of the Hoxton and Islington branch
of the Union read the paragraph without
understanding to whom it referred. Daniel
was among the first to hear of what had be-
fallen the Mutimer family, and from the circle
of his fellow-workmen the news spread quickly.
Talk was rife on the subject of Mutimer 's
dismissal from Longwood Brothers', and the
sensational rumour which followed so quickly
found an atmosphere well prepared for its
transmission. Hence the unusual concourse
at the meeting-place in Islington next Sunday
evening, where, as it became known to others
besides Socialists, Mutimer was ens^as^ed to
lecture. Eichard experienced some vexation
that his lecture was not to be at Common-
wealth Hall, where the gathering would doubt-
less have been much larger.
The Union was not wealthy. The central
hall was rented at Mr. Westlake's expense ;
two or three branches were managino- with
difficulty to support regular places of assembly,
such as could not being obliged as yet to con-
tent themselves with open-air lecturing. In
112 DEMOS
Islington the leaguers met in a room behind a
coffee-shop, ordinarily used for festive purposes ;
benches were laid across the floor, and an
estrade at the upper end exalted chairman and
lecturer. The walls were adorned with more
or less striking advertisements of non-alcoholic
beverages, and with a few prints from the
illustrated papers. The atmosphere was to-
baccoey, and the coffee-shop itself, through
which the visitors had to make their way,
sugfcrested to the nostrils that bloaters are the
working man's chosen delicacy at Sunday tea.
A table just v>'ithin the door of the lecture-
room exposed for sale sundry Socialist -publica-
tions, the latest issue of the ' Fiery Cross ' in
particular.
Eichard was wont to be amongj the earliest
arrivals ; to-night he was full ten minutes
behind the hour for which the lecture was
advertised. A group of friends were standing
about the table near the door ; they received
him with a bustle which turned all eyes thither-
wards. He walked up the middle of the room
to the platform. As soon as he was well in
the eye of the meeting, a single pair of hands
— Daniel Dabbs owned them — gave the signal
for uproar; feet made play on the boarding,
and one or two of the more enthusiastic revo-
lutionists fairly gave tongue. Eichard seated
himself with grave countenance, and surveyed
DEMOS 113
the assembly ; from fifty to sixty people were
present, among them three or four women, and
the number continued to grow. The chairman
and one or two leading spirits had followed
Mutimer to the place of distinction, where
they talked with him.
Punctuahty was not much regarded at these
meetings ; the lecture was announced for eight,
but rarely began before half-past. The present
being an occasion of exceptional interest, twenty
minutes past the hour saw the chairman rise
for his prefatory remarks. He was a lank
man of jovial countenance and jerky enuncia-
tion. There was no need, he observed, to in-
troduce a friend and comrade so well known
to them as the lecturer of the evening. ' We're
always glad to hear him, and to-night, if I may
be allowed to 'int as much, we're particularly
glad to hear him. Our friend and comrade is
going to talk to us about the Land. It's a
question we can't talk or think too much
about, and Comrade Mutimer has thought
about it as much and more than any of us, I
think I may say. I don't know,' the chairman
added, with a sly Icok across the room,
'whether our friend's got any new views on
this subject of late. I shouldn't wonder if he
had.' Here sounded a roar of laughter, led off
by Daniel Dabbs. ' Hows'ever, be that as it
may, we can answer for it as any views he may
VOL. I. I
114
DEMOS
hold is tlie right views, and the honest views,
and the views of a man as means to do a good
deal more than talk about his convictions ! '
Again did the stentor-note of Daniel ring
forth, and it was amid thunderous cheering
thatEichard left his chair and moved to the
front of the platform. His Sunday suit of
black was still that with which his friends were
familiar, but his manner, though the audience
probably did not perceive the detail, was un-
mistakably changed. He had been wont to
begin his address with short, stinging periods,
with sneers and such bitterness of irony as
came within his compass. To-night he struck
quite another key, mellow, confident, hinting
at personal satisfaction ; a smile was on his lips,
and not a smile of scorn. He rested one hand
against his side, holding in the other a scrap
of paper with jotted items of reasoning. His
head was thrown a little back ; he viewed the
benches from beneath his eyelids. True, the
pose maintained itself but for a moment. I
mention it because it was something new in
Eichard.
He spoke of the land ; he attacked the old
monopoly, and visioned a time when a claim to
individual ownerships of the earth's surface
w^ould be as ludicrous as w^ere now the assertion
of title to a fee-simple somewhere in the moon.
He mustered statistics ; he adduced historic
DEMOS 115
and contemporary example of tlie just and the
unjust in land-holding ; he gripped the throat
of a certain English duke, and held him up for
flagellation ; he drifted into oceans of economic
theory ; he sat down by the waters of Babylon ;
he climbed Pisgah. Had he but spoken of
backslidings in the wilderness ! But for that
fatal omission, the lecture was, of its kind, good.
By degrees Eichard forgot his pose and the
carefully struck note of mellowness ; he began
to believe what he was saying, and to say it
with the right vigour of popular oratory.
Forget his struggles with the h-fiend ; forget
liis syntactical lapses ; you saw that after all
the man had within him a clear flame of con-
science ; that he had felt before speaking that
speech was one of the uses for which Nature
had expressly framed him. His invective
seldom degenerated into vulgar abuse; one dis-
cerned in him at least the elements cf what we
call good taste ; of simple manliness he dis-
closed not a little ; he had some command of
pathos. In conclusion, he finished without
reference to his personal concerns.
The chairman invited questions, preliminary
to debate.
He rose half-way down the room, — the
man who invariably rises on these occasions.
He was oldish, with bent shoulders, and wore
spectacles — probably a clerk of forty years'
1 16 DEMOS
standing. In his hand was a small note-book,
which he consulted. He began with measured
utterance, emphatic, loud.
' I wish to propose to the lecturer seven
questions. I will read them in order ; I have
taken some pains to word them clearly.'
Eichard has his scrap of paper on his knee.
He jots a word or two after each deliberate
interrogation, smiling.
Other questioners succeeded. Eichard re-
plies to them. He fails to satisfy the man of
seven queries, who, after repeating this and the
other of the seven, professes himself still un-
satisfied, shakes his head indulgently, walks
from the room.
The debate is opened. Behold a second
inevitable man ; he is not well-washed, his
shirt-front shows a beer-stain ; he is angry
before he begins.
' I don't know whether a man as doesn't
'old with these kind o' theories '11 be allowed a
fair 'earin '
Indignant interruption. Cries of ' Of course
he will ! ' — ' Who ever refused to hear you ? '
— and the hke.
He is that singular phenomenon, that self-
contradiction, that expression insoluble into
factors of common-sense — the Conservative
working man. What do they want to be at?
he demands. Do they suppose as this kind of
DEMOS 117
talk '11 make wages higher, or enable the poor
man to get his beef and beer at a lower rate ?
What's the d d good of it all? Figures,
eh ? He never heered yet as figures made a
meal for a man as hadn't got one ; nor yet as
they provided shoes and stockings for his young
'uns at 'ome. It made him mad to listen, that
it did ! Do they suppose as the rich men '11
give up the land, if they talk till all's blue ?
Wasn't it human natur to get all you can and
stick to it ?
' Pig's nature I ' cries someone from the front
benches.
'There!' comes the rejoinder. 'Didn't I
say as there was no fair 'earing for a man as
didn't say just what suits you? '
The voice of Daniel Dabbs is loud in good-
tempered mockery. Mockery comes from every
side, an angry note here and there, for the most
part tolerant, jovial.
' Let him speak ! 'Ear him ! Hoy ! Hoy ! '
The chairman interposes, but by the time
that order is restored the Conservative work-
ing man has thrust liis hat upon his head and
is off to the nearest public-house, muttering
oaths.
Mr. Cullen rises, at the same time rises Mr.
Cowes. These two gentlemen are fated to rise
simultaneously. They scowl at each other.
Mr. Cullen begins to speak, and Mr. Cowes,
ITS DEMOS
after a circular glance of protest, resumes his
seat. The echoes tell that we are in for
oratory with a vengeance. Mr. Cullen is a
short, stout man, very seedily habited, with a
great rough head of hair, an aquiline nose,
lungs of vast power. His vein is King Cam-
byses' ; he tears passion to tatters; he roars
leonine ; he is your man to have at the pam-
per'd jades of Asia ! He has got hold of a new
word, and that the verb to ' exploit.' I am
exploited, thou art exploited, — he exploits!
Who ? Why, such men as that English duke
whom the lecturer gripped and flagellated.
The Enorlish duke is Mr. Cullen's bus^bear ;
never a speech from Mr. Cullen but that duke
is most horribly mauled. His ground-rents, —
yah ! Another word of which Mr. Cullen is
fond is ' strattum,' — usually spelt and pro-
nounced with but one t midway. You and I
have the misfortune to belong to a social
' strattum ' which is trampled, fiat and hard
beneath the feet of the land-owners. Mr.
Cullen rises to such a point of fury that one
dreads the consequences — to himself. Already
the chairman is on his feet, intimatinsf in dumb
show that the allowed ten minutes have elapsed;
there is no making the orator hear. At length
his friend who sits by him fairly grips his coat-
tails and brings him to a sitting posture, amid
mirthful tumult. Mr. Cullen joins in the mirth,
DEMOS 119
looks as though he had never been angry in his
life. And till next Sunday comes round he will
neither speak nor think of the social question.
Mr. Cowes is unopposed. After the pre-
ceding^ enthusiast, the voice of Mr. Cowes falls
soothingly as a stream among the heather. He
is tall, meagre, bald ; he wears a very broad
black necktie, his hand saws up and down. Mr.
Cowes' tone is the quietly venomous ; in a few
minutes you believe in his indignation far more
than in that of Mr. Cullen. He makes a point,
and pauses to observe the effect upon his
hearers. He prides himself upon his grammar,
goes back to correct a concord, emphasises
eccentricities of pronunciation ; for instance, he
accents 'capitalist' on the second syllable, and
repeats the words with grave challenge to all
and sundry. Speaking of something which he
wishes to stigmatise as a misnomer, he exclaims :
It's what I call a misnomy ! ' And he follows
the assertion with an awful suspense of utterance.
He brings his speech to a close exactly with the
end of the tenth minute, and, on sitting down,
eyes his unknown neighbour with wrathful
intensity for several moments.
Who will follow? A sound comes from
the very back of the room, such a sound that
every head turns in astonished search for the
source of it. Such voice has the wind in
garret-chimneys on a winter night. It is a thin
120 DEMOS
wail, a prelude of lamentation ; it troubles the
blood. The speaker no one seems to know ;
he is a man of yellow visage, with head sunk
between pointed shoulders, on his crown a
mere scalp-lock. He seems to be afflicted with
a disease of the muscles ; his malformed body-
quivers, the hand he raises shakes paralytic.
His clothes are of the meanest ; what his age
may be it is impossible to judge. As his voice
gathers strength, the hearers begin to feel the
influence of a terrible earnestness. He does not
rant, he does not weigh his phrases ; the stream
of bitter prophecy flows on smooth and dark.
He is supplying the omission in Mutimer's ha-
rangue, is bidding his class know itself and
chasten itself, as an indispensable preliminary
to any great change in the order of things. He
cries vanity upon all these detailed schemes of
social reconstruction. Are we ready for it? he
wails. Could we bear it, if they granted it to
us? It is all good and right, but hadn't we
better first make ourselves worthy of such free-
dom ? He begins a terrible arraignment of the
People, — then, of a sudden, his voice has ceased.
You could hear a pin drop. It is seen that the
man has fallen to the ground ; there arises a low
moaning ; people press about him.
They carry him into the coffee-shop. It
was a fit. In five minutes he is restored, but
does not come back to finish his speech.
DEMOS 121
There is an interval of disorder. But surely
we are not going to let the meeting end in this
way. The chairman calls for the next speaker,
and he stands forth in the person of a rather
smug little shopkeeper, who declares that he
knows of no single particular in which the
working class needs correction. The speech
undeniably falls flat. Will no one restore the
tone of the meeting ?
Mi\ Kitshaw is the man! I^ow we shall
have broad grins. Mr. Kitshaw enjoys a repu-
tation for mimicry ; he takes off music-hall
singers in the bar-parlour of a Saturday night.
Observe, he rises, hems, pulls down his waist-
coat ; there is bubbling laughter. Mr. Kitshaw
brings back the debate to its original subject ;
]ie talks of the Land. He is a little haphazard
at first, but presently hits the mark in a fancy
picture of a country still in the hands of abori-
gines, as yet unannexed by the capitalist nations,
knowing not the meaning of the verb ' exploit.'
'Imagine such a happy land, my friends; a
land, I say, which nobody hasn't ever thought
of " developing the resources " of, — that's the
proper phrase, I beheve. There are the people,
with clothing enough for comfort and — ahem !
— good manners, but, mark you, no more. No
manufacture of luxurious skirts and hulsters and
togs o' that kind by the exploited classes. No,
for no exploited classes don't exist ! All are
122
DEMOS
equal, my friends. Up an' down the fields they
goes, all day long, arm-in-arm, Jack and Jerry,
aye, and Liza an' Sairey Ann ; for they have
equality of the sexes, mind you ! Up an' down
the fields, I say, in a devil-may-care sort of
way, with their sweethearts and their wives.
iN'o factory smoke, 0 dear no! There's the
rivers, with tropical plants a-shading the banks,
0 my ! There they goes up an' down in their
boats, devil-may-care, a-strumming on the
banjo,' — he imitated such action, — ' and a sing-
ing their nigger minstrelsy with light 'earts.
Why ? 'Cause they ain't got no work to get
up to at 'arf-past five next morning. Their
time's their own ! Thafs the condition of an
unexploited country, my friends ! '
Mr. Kitshaw had put everyone in vast good
humour. You might wonder that his sweetly
idyllic picture did not stir bitterness by con-
trast ; it were to credit the Enghsh workman
with too much imagination. Eesonance of
applause rewarded the sparkling rhetorician.
A few of the audience availed themselves of
the noise to withdraw, for the clock showed
that it was close upon ten, and public-houses
shut their doors early on Sunday.
But Kichard Mutimer was on his feet again,
and this time without regard to efifect ; there
was a word in him strongly demanding utter-
ance. It was to the speech of the unfortunate
DEMOS 123
prophet that he desired to reply. He began
with sorrowful admissions. No one speaking
honestly could deny that — that the working
class had its faults ; they came out plainly
enough now and tlien. Drink, for instance (Mr,
Cullen gave a resounding ' Hear, hear ! ' and a
stamp on the boards). What sort of a spectacle
would' be exhibited by the public-houses in
Hoxton and Islington at closing time to-night P
(' True ! ' from Mr. Cowes, who also stamped
on the boards.) Yes, but Eichard used
the device of apcsiopesis ; Daniel Dabbs took
it for a humorous effect and began a roar,
which was summarily interdicted. ' But,'
pursued Eichard with emphasis, ' what is the
meaning of these vices ? What do they come
of? Who's to blame for them? Xot the
working class — never tell me ! What drives a
man to drink in his spare hours ? What about
the poisonous air of garrets and cellars ? What
about excessive toil and inability to procure
healthy recreation? What about defects of
education, due to poverty? What about
diseased bodies inherited from over-slaved
parents ? ' Messrs. Cowes and Cullen had
accompanied these queries with a climax of
vociferous approval ; w^hen Eichard paused,
they led the tumult of hands and heels. ' Look
at that poor man who spoke to us ! ' cried
Mutimer. ' He's gone, so I shan't hurt him by
124 DEMOS
speaking plainly. He spoke well, mind you,
and he spoke from his heart ; but what sort of
a life has his been, do you think ? A wretched
cripple, a miserable weakling no doubt from
the day of his birth, cursed in having ever seen
the daylight, and, such as he is, called upon to
fight for his bread. Much of it he gets ! Who
would blame that man if he drank himself into
unconsciousness every time he picked up a six-
pence ? ' Cowes and Cullen bellowed their
delight. ' Well, he doesn't do it ; so much you
can be sure of In some vile hole here in this
great city of ours he drags on a life worse —
aye, a thousand times worse ! — than that of the
horses in the West-end mews. Don't clap your
hands so much, fellow- workers. Just think
about it on your way home ; talk about it to
your wives and yoiu' children. It's the sight of
objects like that that makes my blood boil, and
that's set me in earnest at this work of ours. I
feel for that man and all like him as if they
were my brothers. And I take you all to
witness, all you present and all you rej)eat my
words to, that I'll work on as long as I have
life in me, that I'll use every opportunity that's
given me to uphold the cause of tlie poor and
down-trodden agauist the rich and selfish and
luxurious, that if I live another fifty years I
shall still be of the people and with the people,
that no man shall ever have it in his power to
DEMOS 125
say that Eicharcl Mutimer misused his chances
and was only a new burden to tliem whose load
he might have lightened ! '
There was nothing for it but to leap on to
the very benches and yell as long as your voice
would hold out.
After that the meeting was mere exuber-
ance of mutual congratulations. Mr. Cullen
was understood to be moving the usual vote of
thanks, but even his vocal organs strove hard
for little purpose. Daniel Dabbs had never
made a speech in his life, but excitement drove
him on the honourable post of seconder. The
chairman endeavoured to make certain an-
nouncements ; then the assembly broke up.
The estrade was invaded ; everybody wished to
shake hands with Mutimer. Mr. Cullen tried
to obtain Eichard's attention to certain remarks
of value ; failing, he went off with a scowl.
Mr. Cowes attempted to button-hole the popu-
lar hero ; finding Eichard conversing with
someone else at the same time, he turned away
with a covert sneer. The former of the two
worthies had desired to insist upon every mem-
ber of the Union becoming a teetotaller ; the
latter wished to say that he thought it would
be well if a badge of temperance were hence-
forth worn by Unionists. On turning away,
each glanced at the clock and hurried his step.
In a certain dark street not very far from
126 DEMOS
the lecture-room Mr. Cullen rose on tip-toe at
the windows of a dull little public-house. A
Unionist was standing at the bar ; Mr. Cullen
hurried on, into a street yet darker. Again he
tip- toed at a window. The ghinpse reassured
him ; he passed quickly through the doorway,
stepped to the bar, gave an order. Then he
turned, and behold, on a seat just under the
window sat Mr. Cowes, a short pipe in his mouth,
a smoking tumbler held on his knee. The
supporters of total abstinence nodded to each
other, with a slight lack of spontaneity. Mr.
Cullen, having secured his own timibler, came
by his comrade's side.
' Deal o' fine talk to wind up with,' he re-
marked tentatively.
' He means what he says,' returned the other
gravely.
' Oh yes,' Mr. Cullen hastened to admit.
'Mu timer means what he says ! Only the way
of saying it, I meant. — I've got a bit of a sore
throat.'
' So have I. After that there hot room.'
They nodded at each other sympathetically.
Mr. Cullen filled a little black pipe.
' Got a light ? '
Mr. Cowes offered the glowing bowl of his
own clay ; they put their noses together and
blew a cloud.
' Of course there's no saying what time '11
DEMOS 127
do,' observed tall Mr. Cowes, sententiously,
after a gulp of warm liquor.
' No more there is,' assented short Mr. C alien
with half a wink.
' It's easy to promise.'
' As easy as telUn' lies.'
Another silence.
' Don't suppose you and me '11 get much of
it,' Mr. Cowes ventured to observe.
' About as much as you can put in your eye
without winkin',' was the other's picturesque
agreement.
They talked till closing time.
128 DEMOS
CHAPTEE VII.
One morning late in June, Hubert Eldon
passed through the gates of Wanley Manor and
walked towards the village. It was the first
time since his illness that he had left the grounds
on foot. He was very thin, and had an absent,
troubled look ; the natural cheerfulness of
youth's convalescence seemed altogether lacking
in him.
From a rising point of the road, winding
between the manor and Wanley, a good view
of the valley offered itself; here Hubert paused,
leaning a little on his stick, and let his eyes
dwell upon the prospect. A year ago he had
stood here and enjoyed the sweep of meadows
between Stanbury Hill and the wooded slope
opposite, the orchard-patches, the flocks along
the margin of the little river. To-day he
viewed a very different scene. Building of
various kinds was in progress in the heart of
the vale ; a great massive chimney was rising
to completion, and about it stood a number of
DEMOS 129
sheds. Beyond was to be seen the commence-
ment of a street of small houses, promising
infinite ugliness in a little space ; the soil over
a considerable area was torn up and trodden
into mud. A number of men were at work ;
carts and waggons and trucks were moving
about. In truth, the benighted valley was
waking up and donning the true nineteenth-
century livery.
The young man's face, hitherto thoughtfully
sad, changed to an expression of bitterness ; he
muttered what seemed to be angry and con-
temptuous words, then averted his eyes and
walked on. He entered the village street and
passed along it for some distance, his fixed gaze
appearing studiously to avoid the people who
stood about or walked by him. There was a
spot of warm colour on his cheeks ; he held
himself very upright and had a painfully self-
conscious air.
He stopped before a dwelling-house, rang the
bell, and made inquiry whether Mr. Mutimer
was at home. The reply being affirmative, he
followed the servant up to the first floor. His
name was announced at the door of a sitting-
room, and he entered.
Two men were conversing in the room.
One sat at the table with a sheet of paper
before him, sketching a rough diagiam and
scribbling notes ; this was Eichard Mutimer.
VOL. I. K
I^O
DEMOS
He was clresssed in a light tweed suit ; his fair
moustache and beard were trimmed, and the
hand which rested on the table was no longer
that of a daily-grimed mechanic. His linen
was admirably starched ; altogether he had a
very fresh and cool appearance. His companion
was astride on a chair, his arms resting on the
back, a pipe in his mouth. This man was
somewhat older than Mutimer ; his counte-
nance indicated shrewdness and knowledge of
the world. He was dark and well-featured,
his glossy black hair was parted in the middle,
his moustache of the cut called imperial, his
beard short and peaked. He wore a canvas
jacket, a white waistcoat and knickerbockers ;
at his throat a blue necktie fluttered loose.
When Hubert's name was announced by the
servant, this gentleman stopped midway in a
sentence, took his pipe from his lips, and looked
to the door with curiosity.
Mutimer rose and addressed his visitor
easily indeed, but not discourteously.
' How do you do, Mr. Eldon ? I'm glad to
see that you are so much better. Will you sit
down ? I think you know Mr. Eodman, at all
events by name ? '
Hubert assented by gesture. He had
come prepared for disagreeable things in this
]iis first meeting with Mutimer, but the honour
of an introduction to the latter's friends had
DEMOS 131
not been included in his anticipations. Mr.
Eodman had risen and bowed shghtly. His
smile carried a disagreeable suggestion from
which Mutimer's behaviour was altogether free ;
he rather seemed to enjoy the situation.
For a moment there was silence and embar-
rassment. Eichard overcame the difficulty.
' Come and dine with me to-night, will
you?' he said to Eodman. 'Here, take this
plan with you, and think it over.'
' Pray don't let me interfere with your busi-
ness,' interposed Hubert, with scrupulous polite-
ness. ' I could see you later, Mr. Mutimer.'
' No, no ; Eodman and I have done for the
present,' said Mutimer, cheerfully. 'By-the-
by,' he added, as his right-hand man moved
to the door, ' don't forget to drop a line to
Slater and Smith. And, I say, if Hogg turns
up before two o'clock, send him here ; I'll be
down with you by half-past.'
Mr. Eodman gave an 'All right,' nodded
to Hubert, who paid no attention, and took his
departure.
' You've had a long pull of it,' Eichard
began, as he took his chair again, and threw
his legs into an easy position. ' Shall I close the
windows ? Maybe you don't like the draught.'
' Thank you ; I feel no draught.'
The working man had the advantage as
yet. Hubert in vain tried to be at ease, whilst
K 2
132 DEMOS
Mutimer was quite himself, and not ungraceful
in his assumption of equality. For one thing,
Hubert could .not avoid a comparison between
his own wasted frame and the other's splendid
physique ; it heightened the feeling of antago-
nism which possessed him in advance, and pro-
voked the haughtiness he had resolved to guard
against. The very lineaments of the men fore-
told mutual antipathy. Hubert's extreme de-
licacy of feature was the outward expression
of a character so compact of subtleties and
refinements, of high prejudice and jealous sen-
sibility, of spiritual egoism and all-pervading
fastidiousness, that it was impossible for him
not to regard with repugnance a man who
represented the combative principle, even the
triumph, of the uncultured classes. He was no
hide-bound aristocrat ; the liberal tendencies of
his intellect led him to scorn the pageantry of
long-descended fools as strongly as he did the
blind image-breaking of the mob ; but in a
case of personal relations temperament carried
it over judgment in a very high-handed way.
Youth and disappointment weighed in the scale
of unreason. Mutimer, on the other hand,
though fortune helped him to forbearance, saw,
or believed he saw, the very essence of all he
most hated in this proud-eyed representative of
a county family. His own rough -sculptured
comeliness corresponded to tlie vigour and
DEMOS
133
practicality and zeal of a nature which cared
nothing for form and all for substance ; the
essentials of Hfe were to him the only things in
life, instead of, as to Hubert Eldon, the mere
brute foundation of an artistic superstructure.
Eichard read clearly enough the sentiments
with which his visitor approached him ; who
that is the object of contempt does not readily
perceive it? His way of revenging himself
was to emphasise a tone of good-fellowship, to
make it evident how well he could afford to
neglect privileged insolence. In his heart he
triumphed over the disinherited aristocrat ;
outwardly he was civil, even friendly.
Hubert had made this call with a special
purpose.
' I am charged by Mrs. Eldon,' he began,
' to thank you for the courtesy you have shown
her during my illness. My own thanks like-
wise I hope you will accept. We have caused
you, I fear, much inconvenience.'
Eichard found himself envying the form
and tone of this deliverance ; he gathered his
beard in his hands and gave it a tug.
' Not a bit of it,' he repRed. ' I am very
comfortable here. A bedroom and a place for
work, that's about all I want.'
Hubert barely smiled. He wondered
whether the mention of work was meant to
suggest comparisons. He hastened to add —
134 DEMOS
' On Monday we hope to leave the Manor.'
' No need whatever for hurry,' observed
Mutimer, good-humoiiredly. ' Please tell Mrs.
Eldon that I hope she will take her own time.'
On reflection this seemed rather an ill-chosen
phrase ; he bettered it. ' I should be very
sorry if slie inconvenienced herself on my ac-
count.'
' Confound the fellow's impudence ! ' was
Hubert's mental comment. 'He plays the
forbearing landlord.'
His spoken reply was : ' It is very kind of
you. I foresee no difficulty in completing the
removal on Monday.'
In view of Mu timer's self-command, Hubert
began to be aware that his own constraint
might carry the air of petty resentment. Fear
of that drove him upon a topic he would rather
have left alone.
' You are changing the appearance of the
valley,' he said, veiling by his tone the irony
which was evident in his choice of words.
Eichard glanced at him, then walked to the
window, with his hands in his pockets, and
gave himself the pleasure of a glimpse of the
furnace-chimney above the opposite houses.
He laughed.
' I hope to change it a good deal more. In
a year or two you won't know the place.'
' I fear not.'
DEMOS 135
Mutimer glanced again at his visitor.
' Why do you fear ? ' he asked, Avith less
command of his voice.
' I of course understand your point of view.
Personally, I prefer nature.'
Hubert endeavoured to smile, that his per-
sonal preferences might lose something of their
edge.
' You jDrefer nature,' Mutimer repeated,
coming back to his chair, on the seat of which
he rested a foot. ' Well, I can't say that I do.
The Wanley Iron Works will soon mean bread
to several hundred families ; how many would
the grass support ? '
* To be sure,' assented Hubert, still smiling.
' You are aware,' Mutimer proceeded to
ask, ' that this is not a speculation for my own
profit ? '
' I have heard something of your scheme.
I trust it will be appreciated.'
' I dare say it will be — by those who care
anything about the welfare of the people.'
Eldon rose ; he could not trust himself to
continue the dialogue. He had expected to
meet a man of coarser grain ; Mutimer's in-
telligence made impossible the civil condescen-
sion which Avould have served with a boor,
and Hubert found the temptation to pointed
utterance all the stronger for the dangers it
involved.
ii;6 DEMOS
' I will drop you a note,' he said, ' to let
you know as soon as the house is empty.'
' Thank you.'
They had not shaken hands at meeting, nor
did they now. Eich felt relieved when out of
the other's sight.
Hubert turned out of the street into a road
which would lead him to the church, whence
there was a field -path back to the Manor.
Walkmg with his eyes on the ground he did
not perceive the tall, dark figure that ap-
proached him as he drew near to the church-
yard gate. Mr. Wyvern had been conducting
a burial ; he had just left the vestry and was
on his way to the vicarage, which stood five
minutes' walk from the church. Himself
unperceived, he scrutinised the young man
until he stood face to face with him ; liLs
deep-voiced greeting caused Hubert to look up
with a start.
' I'm very glad to see you walking,' said
tne clergyman.
He took Hubert's hand and lield it pater-
nally in both his own. Eldon seemed affected
with a sudden surprise ; as he met the large
gaze his look showed embarrassment.
' You remember me ? ' Mr. Wyvern re-
marked, his wonted solemnity lightened by the
gleam of a brief smile. Looking closely into
his face was like examining a map in relief;
DEMOS 137
you saw heights and plains, the intersection of
multitudinous valleys, river- courses with their
tributaries. It w^as the visage of a man of
thought and character. His eyes spoke of late
hours and the lamp ; beneath each was a heavy
pocket of skin, wrinkling at its juncture with
the cheek. His teeth were those of an inces-
sant smoker, and, in truth, you could seldom
come near him without detecting the odour of
tobacco. Despite the amplitude of his pro-
portions, there was nothing ponderous about
him ; the great head was finely formed, and
his limbs must at one time have been as
graceful as they were muscular.
' Is this accident,' Hubert asked ; ' or did
you know" me at the time ? '
'Accident, pure accident. Will you w^alk
to the vicarage with me ? '
They paced side by side.
' Mrs. Eldon profits by the pleasant w^eather,
I trust?' the vicar observed, with grave cour-
tesy.
' Thank you, I think she does. I shall be
glad when she is settled in her new^ home.'
They approached the door of the vicarage
in silence. Entering, Mr. Wyvern led the
way to his study. When he had taken a seat,
he appeared to forget himself for a moment,
and played with the end of his beard.
Hubert showed impatient curiosity.
138 DEMOS
' You found me tliere by chance that
morning ? ' he began.
The clergyman returned to the present.
His elbows on either arm of his round chair, he
sat leaning forward, thoughtfully gazing at his
companion.
' By chance,' he replied. ' I sleep badly ;
so it happened that I was abroad shortly after
daybreak. I was near the edge of the wood
when I heard a pistol-shot. I waited for the
second.'
' We fired together,' Hubert remarked.
' Ah ! It seemed to me one report. Well,
as I stood listening, there came out from among
the trees a man who seemed in a hurry. He
was startled at finding himself face to face with
me, but didn't stop ; he said something rapidly
in French that I failed to catch, pointed back
into the wood, and hastened off.'
' We had no witnesses,' put in Hubert ;
' and both aimed our best. I wonder he sent
you to look for me.'
' A momentary weakness, no doubt,' re-
joined the vicar drily. ' I made my way
among the trees and found you lying there,
unconscious. I made some attempt to stop the
blood-How, then picked you up ; it seemed
better, on the whole, than leaving you on the
wet grass an indefinite time. Your overcoat
was on the ground ; as I took hold of it, tw^o
DEMOS 139
letters fell from the pocket. I made no scruple
about reading tlie addresses, and was astonished
to find that one was to Mrs. Eldon, at Wanley
Manor, Wanley being the place where I was
about to live on my return to England. I took
it for granted that you were Mrs. Eldon's son.
The other letter, as you know, was to a lady at
a hotel in the town.'
Hubert nodded.
' And you went to her as soon as you left
me.?'
' After hearing from the doctor that there
was no immediate danger. — The letters, I
suppose, would have announced your death ? '
Hubert again inclined his head. The im-
perturbable gravity of the speaker had the
effect of imposing self-command on the young
man, whose sensitive cheeks showed what was
going on within.
' Will you tell me of your interview with
her ? ' he asked.
' It was of the briefest ; my French is not
fluent.'
' But she speaks Enghsli well.'
' Probably her distress led her to give
preference to her native tongue. She was
anxious to go to you immediately, and I told
her where you lay. I made inquiries next day,
and found that she was still giving you her
care. As you were doing well, and I had to
I40 DEMOS
be moving homewards, I thought it better to
leave without seeing you again. The innkeeper
had directions to telegraph to me if there was
a change for the worse.'
' My pocket-book saved me/ remarked
Hubert, touching his side.
Mr. Wyvern drew in his lips.
' Came between that ready-stamped letter
and Wanley Manor,' was his comment.
There was a brief silence.
' You allow me a question ? ' the vicar
resumed. ' It is with reference to the French
lady.'
* I think you have every right to question
me.'
' Oh no I It does not concern the events
prior to your — accident.' Mr. Wyvern savoured
the word. ' How long did she remain in
attendance upon you ? '
'A short time — two days — I did not
need '
Mr. Wyvern motioned with his hand,
kindly.
' Then I was not mistaken,' he said, averting
his eyes for the first time, ' in thinking that I
saw her in Paris.'
' In Paris ? ' Hubert repeated, with a poor
affectation of indifference.
' I made a short stay before crossing. I
had business at a bank one day ; as I stood
DEMOS 141
before the counter a gentleman entered and
took a place beside me. A second look assured
me that he was the man who met me at the
edge of the wood that morning. I suppose
he remembered me, for he looked away and
moved from me. I left the bank, and found
an open carriage waiting at the door. In it
sat the lady of whom we speak. I took a turn
along the pavement and back again. The
Frenchman entered the carriage ; they drove
away.'
Hubert's eyes were veiled ; he breathed
through his nostrils. Again there was silence.
' Mr. Eldon,' resumed the vicar, ' I was a
man of the world before I became a churchman ;
you will notice that I affect no professional tone
in speaking with j^ou, and it is because I know
that anything of the kind would only alienate
you. It appeared to me that chance had made
me aware of something it might concern you to
hear. I know nothing of the circumstances of
the case, merely offer you the facts.'
'I thank you,' was Hubert's reply in an
undertone.
' It impressed me, that letter ready stamped
for Wanley Manor. I thought of it again after
the meeting in Paris.'
' I understand you. Of course I could
explain the necessity. It would be useless.'
* Quite. But experience is not, or should
142 DEMOS
not be, useless, especially when commented on
by one who has very much of it behind him.'
Hubert stood up. His mind was in a fever-
ishly active state, seeming to follow several
lines of thought simultaneously. Among other
things, he was wondering how it was that
throughout this conversation he had been so
entirely passive. He had never found himself
under the influence of so strong a personality,
exerted too in such a strangely quiet way.
' What are your plans — your own plans ? '
Mr. Wyvern inquired.
' I have none.'
' Forgive me ; — there will be no material
difficulties ? '
' None ; I have four hundred a year.'
' You have not graduated yet, I believe .^ '
' No. But I hardly think I can go back to
school.'
' Perhaps not. Well, turn things over. I
should hke to hear from you.'
' You shall.'
Hubert continued his w^alk to the Manor.
Before the entrance stood two large furniture-
vans ; the doorway was littered with materials
of packing, and the hall was full of objects in
disorder. Footsteps made a hollow resonance
in all parts of the house, for everywhere the
long wonted conditions of sound were disturbed.
The library was already dismantled; here he
DEMOS 143
could close the door and walk about without
fear of intrusion. He would have preferred to
remain in the open air, but a summer shower
had just begun as he reached the house. He
could not sit still ; the bare floor of the large
room met his needs.
His mind's eye pictured a face which a few
months ago had power to lead him whither it
willed, which had in fact led him through strange
scenes, as far from the beaten road of a coileo"e
curriculum as well could be. It was a face of
foreign type, Jewish possibly, most unlike that
ideal of womanly charm kept in view by one who
seeks peace and the heart's home. Hubert had
entertained no thought of either. The romance
which most young men are content to enjoy in
printed pages he had acted out in his hfe. He had
lived through a glorious madness, as unlike the
vulgar oat-sowing of the average young man of
wealth as the latest valse on a street-organ is
unlike a passionate dream of Chopin. How-
ever unworthy the object of his frenzy — and
perhaps one were as worthy as another — the
pursuit had borne him through an atmosphere
of fire, tempering him for life, marking him for
ever from plodders of the dusty highway. A
reckless passion is a patent of nobility. What-
ever existence had in store for him henceforth,
Hubert could feel that he had lived.
An hour's communing with memory was
144
DEMOS
brought to an end by the ringing of the huicheon-
bell. Since his illness Hubert had taken meals
with his mother in her own sitting-room.
Thither he now repaired.
Mrs. Eldon had grown older in appearance
since that evening of her son's return. Of course
she had discovered the cause of his illness, and
the incessant torment of a great fear had been
added to what she suffered from the estrange-
ment between the boy and herself. Her own
bodily weakness had not permitted her to nurse
him ; she had passed days and nights in anguish
of expectancy. At one time it had been life or
death. If he died, what hfe would be hers
through the brief delay to which she could look
forward ?
Once more she had him by her side, but
the moral distance between them was nothing-
lessened : Mrs. Eldon's pride would not allow
her to resume the conversation which had ended
so hopelessly for her. and she interpreted
Hubert's silence in the saddest sense. Now
they were about to be parted again. A house
had been taken for her at Agworth, three miles
away ; in her state of health she could not quit
the neighbourhood of the few old friends whom
she still saw. But Hubert would necessarily
go into the world to seek some kind of career.
No hope shone for her in the prospect.
Whilst the servant waited on them at
DEMOS 145
luncheon, mother and son exchanged few words.
Afterwards, Mrs. Eldon had her chair moved to
the window, where she could see the garden
greenery.
' I called on Mr. Mu timer,' Hubert said,
standing near her. Through the meal he had
cast frequent glances at her pale, nobly-lined
countenance, as if something had led him to
occupy his thoughts with her. He looked at
her in the same way now.
' Did you ? How did he impress you ? '
' He is not quite the man I had expected ;
more civihsed. I should suppose he is the
better kind of artisan. He talks with a good
deal of the working-class accent, of course, but
not like a wholly uneducated man.'
' His letter, you remember, was anything
but illiterate. I feel I ought to ask him to come
and see me before we leave.'
' The correspondence surely suffices.'
' You expressed my thanks ? '
' Conscientiously.'
' I see you found the interview rather diffi-
cult, Hubert.'
' How could it be otherwise ? The man is
well enough, of his kind, but the kind is de-
testable.'
' Did he try to convert you to Socialism ? '
asked his mother, smihng in her sad way.
' I imagine lie discerned the hopelessness
VOL. 1. L
146 DEMOS
of such an undertaking. We had a httle
passage of arms, — quite within the bounds of
civihty. Shall I tell you how I felt in talking
with him ? I seemed to be holding a dialogue
with the twentieth century, and you may think
what that means.'
' Ah, it's a long way off, Hubert.'
'I wish it were farther. The man was
openly exultant ; he stood for Demos grasping
the sceptre. I am glad, mother, that you leave
Wanley before the air is poisoned.'
' Mr. Mutimer does not see that side of the
question ? '
' Not he ! Do you imagine the twentieth
century will leave one green spot on the earth's
surface ? '
' My dear, it will always be necessary to
grow grass and corn.'
' By no means ; depend upon it. Such things
will be cultivated by chemical processes. There
will not be one inch left to nature ; the very
oceans will somehow be tamed, the snow-moun-
tains will be levelled. And with nature will
perish art. What has a hungry Demos to do
wdth the beautiful .^ '
Mrs. Eldon sighed gently.
' I shall not see it.'
Her eyes dreamed upon the soft-swaying
boughs of a young chestnut. Hubert was
Avatching her face ; its look and the meaning
implied in her words touched him profoundly.
DEMOS -L^i
' Mother ! ' he said under his breath.
'My dear?'
He drew nearer to her and just stroked
with his fingers the silver lines which marked
the hair on either side of her brows. He could
see that she trembled and that her lips set them-
selves in hard self-conquest.
' What do you wish me to do when we have
left the Manor?'
His own voice was hurried between two
quiverings of the throat ; his mother's only
whispered in reply.
• That is for your own consideration, Hubert.'
' With your counsel, mother.'
' My counsel ? '
' I ask it. I will follow it. I wish to be
guided by you.'
He knelt by her, and his mother pressed his
head against her bosom.
Later, she asked —
' Did you call also on the Walthams ? '
He shook his head.
' Should you not do so, dear ? '
' I think that must be later.'
This subject was not pursued.
The next day was Saturday. In the after-
noon Hubert took a walk which had been his
favourite one ever since he could remember,
every step of the way associated with recollec-
r 2
148 DEMOS
tions of childhood, boyhood, or youth. It was
along the lane which began in a farmyard close
by the Manor and climbed with many turnings
to the top of Stanbury Hill. This was ever
the first route re-examined by his brother
Godfrey and himself on their return from
school at holiday-time. It was a rare region
for bird-nesting, so seldom was it trodden save
by a few farm-labourers at early morning or
when the day's work was over. Hubert passed
with a glance of recognition the bramble in
which he had found his first spink's nest, the
shadowed mossy bank whence had flattered
the hapless wren just when the approach of two
prowling youngsters should have bidden her
keep close. Boys on the egg-trail are not wont
to pay much attention to the features of the
country ; but Hubert remembered that at a
certain meadow-gate he had always rested for
a moment to view the valley, some mute presage
of thincTs unimaiiined stirrinc^ at his heart. Was
it even then nineteenth century ? Not for him,
seeing that the life of each of us reproduces
the successive ages of the world. Bel wick,
roaring a few miles away, was but an isolated
black patch on the earth's beauty, not, as he
now understood it, a mahgnant cancer-spot,
spreading day by day, corrupting, an augury of
death. In those days it had seemed fast in the
order of things that Wanley Manor should be
DEMOS 149
liis home througli life ; how otherwise ? Was
it not the abiding-place of the Elclons from of
old? Who had ever hinted at revolution?
He knew now that revolution had been at work
from an earlier time than that ; whilst he played
and rambled with his brother the framework of
their life was crumbling about them. Belwick
was already throwing a shadow upon Wanley.
And now behold ! he stood at the old gate,
rested his hands where they had been wont to
rest, turned his eyes in the familiar direction ;
no longer a mere shadow, there was Belwick
itself.
His heart was hot with outraged affection,
with injured pride. On the scarcely closed
grave of that passion which had flamed through
so brief a life sprang up the flower of natural
tenderness, infinitely sweet and precious. For
the first time he was fully conscious of what it
meant to quit Wanley for ever; the past re-
vealed itself to him, lovelier and more loved
because parted from him by so hopeless a gulf.
Hubert was not old enough to rate experience
at its true value, to acquiesce in the law which
wills that the day must perish before we can
enjoy to the full its hght and odour. He could
only feel his loss, and rebel against the fate
which had ordained it.
He had chmbed but half-way up the hill ;
from this point onwards there was no view till
I50 DEMOS
the summit was reached, for the lane proceeded
between high banks and hedges. To gain the
very highest point he had presently to quit the
road by a stile and skirt the edge of a small
rising meadow, at the top of which was an old
cow-house with a few trees growing about it.
Thence one had the finest prospect in the
county.
He reached the stone shed, looked back for
a moment over Wanley, then walked round to
the other side. As he turned the corner of the
building his eye was startled by the unexpected
gleam of a white dress. A girl stood there ;
she was viewing the landscape through a field-
glass, and thus remained unaware of his ap-
proach on the grass. He stayed his step and
observed her with eyes of recognition. Her
attitude, both hands raised to hold tlie glass, .
displayed to perfection the virginal outline oi ArCr^
her white-robed form. She wore a straw hat '
of the plain masculine fashion ; her brown hair
was plaited in a great circle behind her head,
not one tendril loosed from the mass ; a white
collar closely circled her neck ; her waist was
bound with a red girdle. All was grace and
purity ; the very folds towards the bottom of
her dress hung in sculpturesque smoothness ; the
form of her half-seen foot bowed the herbaore
with lightest pressure. From the boughs above
there fell upon her a dancing network of
shadow.
DEMOS 151
Hubert only half smiled ; lie stood with his
hands joined behind him, his eyes fixed upon
her face, waiting for her to turn. But several
moments passed and she was still intent on the
landscape. He spoke.
' Will you let me look ? '
Her hands fell, all but dropping the glass ;
still, she did not start with unbecoming shrug
as most people do, the instinctive movement of
guarding against a stroke ; the falling of her
arms was the only abrupt motion, her head
turning in the direction of the speaker with a
grace as spontaneous as that we see in a fawn
that glances back before flight.
' 0 Mr. Eldon ! How silently you have
come ! '
The wild rose of her cheeks made rivalry
for an instant with the richer garden blooms,
and the subsiding warmth left a pearly translu-
cency as of a lily petal against the light.
She held her hand to him, delicately gloved,
warm ; the whole of it was hidden within
Hubert's clasp.
' What were you looking at so attentively ? '
he asked.
' At Agworth station,' replied Adela, tiurn-
ing her eyes again in that quarter. ' My brother's
train ought to be in by now, I think. He
comes home every Saturday.'
' Does he ? '
152 DEMOS
Hubert spoke without thought, his look
resting upon the maiden's red girdle.
' I am glad that you are well again,' Adela
said with natural kindness. ' You have had a
long illness.'
' Yes ; it has been a tiresome affair. Is
Mrs. Waltham well ? '
' Quite, thank you.'
' And your brother ? '
' Alfred never had anything the matter with
him in his life, I believe,' she answered, with a
laugh.
' Fortunate fellow ! Will you lend me the
glass ? '
She held it to him, and at the same moment
her straying eye caught a glimpse of white
smoke, far off.
' There comes the train ! ' she exclaimed.
' You will be able to see it between these two
hills.'
Hubert looked and returned the glass to
her, but she did not make use of it.
' Does he walk over from Agworth .^ ' was
Hubert's next question.
'Yes. It does him good after a week of
Bel wick.'
' There will soon be little difference between
Bel wick and Wanley,' rejoined Hubert, drily.
Adela glanced at him ; there was sympathy
and sorrow in the look.
DEMOS T53
* I knew it would grieve you,' she said.
' And what is your own feeling ? Do you
rejoice in the change as a sign of progress? '
' Indeed, no. I am very, very sorry to
have our beautiful valley so spoilt. It is
only '
Hubert eyed her with sudden sharpness of
scrutiny ; the look seemed to check her words.
'Only what.?' he asked. 'You find com-
pensations ? '
' My brother w^on't hear of such regrets,'
she continued with a little embarrassment. ' He
insists on the good that will be done by the
change.'
' From such a proprietor as I should have
been to a man of Mr. Mutimer's activity. To
be sure, that is one point of view.'
Adela blushed.
' That is not my meaning, Mr. Eldon, as you
know. I was speaking of the change without
regard to who brings it about. And I was not
giving my own opinion ; Alfred's is always on
the side of the working people ; he seems to
forget everybody else in his zeal for their
interests. And then, the works are going to be
quite a new kind of undertaking. You have
heard of Mr. Mutimer's plans, of course ? '
' I have an idea of them.'
' You think them mistaken ? '
*No. I would rather say they don't
154 DEMOS
interest me. That seems to disappoint you,
Miss Waltham. Probably you are interested
in them ? '
At the sound of her own name thus form-
ally interjected, Adela just raised her eyes from
their reflective gaze on the near landscape ;
then she became yet more thoughtful.
' Yes, I think I am,' she replied, with de-
liberation. ' The principle seems a just one.
Devotion to a really unselfish cause is rare, I
am afraid.'
' You have met Mr. Mutimer ? '
' Once. My brother made his acquaint-
ance, and he called on us.'
'Did he explain his scheme to you in
detail?'
' Not himself. Alfred has told me all about
it. He, of course, is delighted with it ; he has
joined what he calls the Union.'
'Are you going to join?' Hubert asked,
smiling.
' I ? I doubt whether they would have
me.'
She laughed silverly, her throat tremulous,
like that of a bird that sings. How signifi-
cant the laugh was ! the music of how pure
a freshet of life !
' All the members, I presume,' said Hubert,
' are to be speedily enriched from the Wanley
Mines and Iron Works ? '
DEMOS 155
It was jokingly uttered, but Aclela replied
with some earnestness, as if to remove a false
impression.
' Oh, that is quite a mistake, Mr. Eldon.
There is no question of anyone being enriched,
least of all Mr. Mutimer himself. The work-
men will receive just payment, not mere starva-
tion wages, but whatever profit there is will be
devoted to the propaganda.'
' Propaganda ! Starvation wages ! Ah, I
see you have gone deeply into these matters.
How strangely that word sounds on your lips — •
propaganda ! '
Adela reddened.
' Why strangely, Mr. Eldon ? '
' One associates it with such very different
speakers ; it has such a terrible canting sound.
I hope you will not get into the habit of using
it — for your own sake.'
' I am not likely to use it much. I suppose
I have heard it so often from Alfred lately.
Please don't think,' she added rather hastily,
' that I have become a Socialist. Indeed,! dis-
like the name ; I find it implies so many things
that I could never approve of.'
Her way of speaking the last sentence
would have amused a dispassionate critic, it
was so distinctively the tone of Puritan maiden-
hood. Prom lips like Adela's it is delicious to
hear such moral babbling. Oh, the gravity of
156 DEMOS
conviction in a white-souled English girl of
eighteen ! Do you not hear her say those
words : ' things that I could never approve of ' ?
As her companion did not immediately
reply, she again raised the field-glass to her
eyes and swept the prospect.
' Can you see your brother on the road ? '
Hubert inquired.
' No, not yet. There is a trap driving this
way. Why, Alfred is sitting in it ! Oh, it is
Mr. Mutimer's trap I see. He must have met
Alfred at the station and have given him a
ride.'
'Evidently they are great friends,' com-
mented Eldon.
Adela did not reply. After gazing a little
longer, she said —
' He will be home before I can get there.'
She screwed up the glasses and turned as if
to take leave. But Hubert prepared to walk
by her side, and together they reached the
lane.
' Now I am going to run down the hill,'
Adela said, laughing. ' I can't ask you to join
in such childishness, and I suppose you are
not going this way, either P '
' No, I am walking back to the Manor,' the
other replied soberly. 'We had better say
good-bye. On Monday we shall leave Wanley,
my mother and I.'
DEMOS 157
' Oil Monday ? '
The girl became graver.
' But only to go to Agworth ? ' she added.
' I shall not remain at Agworth. I am
going to London.'
' To— to study ? '
' Something or other, I don't quite know
what. Good-bye ! '
' Won't you come to say good-bye to us —
to mother ? '
' Shall you be at liome to-morrow afternoon,
about four o'clock say ? '
' Oh, yes ; the very time.'
' Then I will come to say good-bye.'
' In that case Ave needn't say it now, need
we.^ It is only good- afternoon.'
She began to walk down the lane.
' I thought you were going to run,' cried
Hubert.
She looked back, and her silver laugh made
chorus with the joyous refrain of a yellow-
hammer, piping behind the hedge. Till the
turn of the road she continued walking, then
Hubert had a glimpse of wdiite folds waving in
the act of flight, and-- she w^as beyond his vision.
158 DEMOS
CHAPTEE VIII.
Adela readied the house door at the very
moment that Mutimer's trap drove up. She
had run nearly all the way down the hill, and
her soberer pace during the last ten minutes
had not quite reduced the flush in her cheeks.
Mutimer raised his hat with much aplomb
before he had pulled up his horse, and his look
stayed on her whilst Alfred Waltham was
descending and taking leave.
' I was lucky enough to overtake your
brother in Agworth,' he said.
' Ah, you have deprived him of what he
calls his constitutional,' laughed Adela.
'Have I? Well, it isn't often I'm here
over Saturday, so he can generally feel safe.'
The hat was again aired, and Eichard drove
away to the Wheatsheaf Inn, where he kept
his horse at present.
Brother and sister went together into the
parlour, where Mrs. Waltham immediately
joined them, having descended from an upper
room.
DEMOS 159
' So Mr. Mutimer drove you home ! ' she
exclaimed, with the interest which provincial
ladies, lacking scope for their energies, will
display in very small incidents.
' Yes. By the way, I've asked him to come
and have dinner with us to-morrow. He hadn't
any special reason for going to town, and was
uncertain whether to do so or not, so I thought
I might as well have him here.'
Mr. Alfred always spoke in a somewhat
emphatic first person singular when domestic
arrangements were under discussion ; occasion-
ally the habit led to a passing unpleasantness
of tone between himself and Mrs. Waltham.
In tlie present instance, however, nothing of the
kind w^as to be feared ; his mother smiled very
graciously.
' I'm glad you thought of it,' she said. ' It
would have been very lonely for him in his
lodgings.'
Neither of the two happened to be regard-
ing Adela, or they would have seen a look of
dismay flit across her countenance and pass
into one of annoyance. When the talk had
gone on for a few minutes Adela interposed a
question.
' Will Mr. Mutimer stay for tea also, do you
think, Alfred?'
' Oh, of course ; why shouldn't he ? '
It is the country habit ; Adela might have
i6o DEMOS
known what answer she would receive. She
got out of the difficulty by means of a little
disingenuousness.
' He won't want us to talk about Socialism
all the time, will he ? '
' Of course not, my dear,' replied Mrs.
Waltham. ' Why, it will be Sunday.'
Alfred shouted in mirthful scorn.
'Well, that's one of the finest things I've
heard for a long time, mother ! It'll be Sunday,
and therefore we are not to talk about im-
proving the lot of the human race. Ye gods ! '
Mrs. Waltham was puzzled for an. instant,
but the Puritan assurance did not fail her.
' Yes, but that is only improvement of their
bodies, Alfred — food and clothing. The six
days are for that you know.'
' Mother, mother, you will kill me ! You
are so uncommonly funny ! I wonder your
friends haven't long ago found seme way of
doing without bodies altogether. Now, I pray
you, do not talk nonsense. Surely that is
forbidden on the Sabbath, if only the Jewish
one.'
' Mother is quite right, Alfred,' remarked
Adela, with quiet affirmativeness, as soon as
her voice could be heard. ' Your Socialism is
earthly ; we have to think of other things-
besides bodily comforts.'
' Who said we hadn't ? ' cried her brother.
DEMOS i6i
' But I take leave to inform you that you won't
get much spiritual excellence out of a man who
lives a harder life than the nigger-slaves. If
you women could only put aside your theories
and look a little at obstinate facts ! You're all
of a piece. Which of you was it that talked
the other day about getting the vicar to pray
for rain .^ Ho, ho, ho ! Just the same kind of
thing.'
Alfred's combativeness had grown markedly
since his making acquaintance with Mutimer.
He had never excelled in the suaver virtues, J^
and now the whole of the time he spent at /
home was devoted to vociferous railing at
capitalists, priests, and women, his mother and
sister serving for illustrations of the vices
prevalent in the last-mentioned class. In
talking he always paced the room, hands in
pockets, and at times fairly stammered in his
endeavour to hit upon sufficiently trenchant
epithets or comparisons. When reasoning
failed with his auditors, he had recourse to
volleys of contemptuous laughter. At times
he lost his temper, muttered words such as
' fools ! ' — ' idiots ! ' and flung out into the open
air. It looked as if the present evening was to
be a stormy one. Adela noted the presage and
allowed herself a protest in limine.
* Alfred, I do hope you won't go on in this
VOL. T. M
i62 DEMOS
way whilst Letty is here. You mayn't think
it, but you pain her very much.'
' Pain her ! It's her education. She's had
none yet, no more than you have. It's time
you both began to learn.'
It being close upon the hour for tea, the
young lady of whom there was question
was heard to ring the door-bell. We have
already had a passing glimpse of her, but since
then she has been honoured by becoming
Alfred's affianced. Letty Tew fulfilled all the
conditions desirable in one called to so trying
a destiny. She was a pretty, supple, sweet-
mannered girl, and, as is the case with such
girls, found it possible to worship a man whom
in consistency she must have deemed the most
condemnable of heretics. She and Adela
were close friends ; Adela, indeed, had no other
friend in the nearer sense. The two were made
of very different fibre, but that had not as yet
distinctly shown.
Adela's reproof was not wholly without
effect ; her brother got through the evening
without proceeding to his extremest truculence.
Still the conversation was entirely of his leading,
consequently not a little argumentative. He
had brought home, as he always did on
Saturday, a batch of ultra periodicals, among
them the ' Fiery Cross,' and his own eloquence
was supplemented by the reading of excerpts
DEMOS 163
from these lively columns. It was a combat of
three to one, but the majority did little beyond
throwing up hands at anything particularly
outrageous. Adela said much less than usual.
' I tell you what it is, you three I ' Alfred
cried, at a certain climax of enthusiasm, ad-
dressing the ladies with characteristic courtesy,
' we'll found a branch of the Union in Wanley ;
I mean, in our particular circle of thickheads.
Then, as soon as Mutimer's settlement gets
going, we can coalesce. Now you two girls
give next week to going round and soliciting
subscriptions for the " Fiery Cross." People
have had time to get over the first scare, and
you know they can't refuse such as you.
Quarterly, one-and-eightpence, including post-
age.'
'But, my dear Alfred,' cried Adela, 're-
member that Letty and I are not Sociahsts ! '
'Letty is, because I expect it of her, and
you can't refuse to keep her in countenance.'
The girls laughed merrily at this antici-
pated lordship ; but Letty said presently — .
' I believe father will take the paper if I
ask him. One is better than nothing, isn't it,
Alfred?'
' Good. We book Stephen Tew, Esquire.*
' But surely you mustn't call him Esquire .^ '
suggested Adela.
V, '2
1 64 DEMOS
' Oh, lie is yet unregenerate ; let him keep
his baubles.'
' How are the regenerate designated ? '
' Comrade, we prefer.'
' Also applied to women ? '
' Well, I suppose not. As the word hasn't
a feminine, call yourselves plain Letty Tew
and Adela Waltham, without meaningless pre-
fix.'
' What nonsense you are talking, Alfred ! '
remarked his mother. ' As if everybody in
Wanley could address young ladies by their
Christian names ! '
In this way did Alfred begin the 'propa-
ganda' at home. Already the village was
much occupied with the vague new doctrines
represented by the name of Eichard Mu timer ;
the parlour of the Wheatsheaf was loud of
evenings Avith extraordinary debate, and gos-
sips of a higher station had at length found a
topic which promised to be inexhaustible. Of
course the vicar was eagerly sounded as to his
views. Mr. Wyvern preserved an attitude of
scrupulous neutrality, contenting himself with
correction of palpable absurdities in the stories
going about. ' But surely you are not a Social-
ist, Mr. Wyvern?' cried Mrs. Mewling, after
doing her best to pump the reverend gentle-
man, and discovering nothing. ' I am a Chris-
tian, madam,' was the reply, ' and have nothing
DEMOS 165
to do with economic doctrines.' Mrs. Mewlincr
o
spread the phrase ' economic doctrines,' shaking
her head upon the adjective, Avhich was inter-
preted by her hearers as condemnatory in
significance. The half-dozen shopkeepers were
disposed to secret jubilation ; it was probable
that, in consequence of the doings in the valley,
trade would look up. Mutimer himself was
a centre of interest such as Wanley had never
known. When he walked down the street the
news that he was visible seemed to spread like
wildfire ; every house had its gazers. Except-
ing the case of the Walthams, he had not as
yet sought to make personal acquaintances,
appearing rather to avoid opportunities. On
the whole it seemed likely that he would be
popular. The little group of mothers with
marriageable daughters waited eagerly for the
day when, by establishing himself at the Manor,
he would throw off the present semi-incognito,
and become the recognised head of Wanley
society. He would discover the necessity of
having a lady to share his honours and preside
at his table. Persistent inquiry seemed to
have settled the fact that he was not married
already. To be sure, there were awesome
rumours that Socialists repudiated laws divine
and human in matrimonial affairs, but the
more sano[uine were inclined to regard this
as calumny, their charity finding a support in
1 66 DEMOS
tlieir personal ambitions. The interest formerly
attaching to the Eldons had altogether vanished.
Mrs. Eldon and her son were now mere ob-
stacles to be got rid of as quickly as possible.
It was the general opinion that Hubert Eldon's
illness was purposely protracted, to suit his
mother's convenience. Until Mutimer's arrival
there had been much talk about Hubert;
whether, owing to Dr. Manns' indiscretion or
through the servants at the Manor, it had be-
come known that the young man was suffering
from a bullet-wound, and the story circulated
by Mrs. Mewling led gossips to suppose that he
had been murderously assailed in that land
of notorious profligacy known to Wanley as
' abroad.' That, however, was now become
an old story. Wanley was anxious for the
Eldons to go their way, and leave the stage
clear.
Everyone of course was aware that Mu-
timer spent his Sundays in London (a circum-
stance, it was admitted, not altogether reassur-
ing to the ladies with marriageable daughters),
and his unwonted appearance in the village on
the evening of the present Saturday excited
universal comment. Would he appear at
church next morning? There was a general
directing of eyes to the Manor pew. This pew
had not been occupied since the fateful Sunday
when, at the conclusion of the morning service,
DEMO^ 167
old Mr. Mutimer was discovered to have
breathed his last. It was a notable object in
the dim little church, having a wooden canopy
supported on four shm oak pillars with vermi-
cular moulding. From pillar to pillar hung
dark curtains, so that when these were drawn
the interior of the pew was entirely protected
from observation. Even on the brightest days
its occupants were veiled in gloom. To-day
the curtains remained drawn as usual, and
Eichard Mutimer disappointed the congrega-
tion. Wanley had obtained assurance on one
point — Socialism involved Atheism.
Then it came to pass that someone saw
Mutimer approach the Walthams' house just
before dinner time ; saw him, moreover, ring
and enter. A couple of hours, and the omi-
nous event was everywhere being discussed.
Well, well, it was not difficult to see what that
meant. Trust Mrs. Waltham for shrewd gene-
ralship. Adela Waltham had been formerly
talked of in connection with young Eldon ; but
Eldon was now out of the question, and behold
his successor, in a double sense ! Mrs. Mewling
surrendered her Sunday afternoon nap and flew
frOm house to house — of course in time for
the dessert-wine at each. Her cry was haro !
Eeally, this was sharp practice on Mrs Wal-
tham's part ; it was stealing a march before the
commencement of the game. Did there not
1 68 DEMOS
exist a tacit understanding that movements were
postponed until Mutimer's occupation of the
Manor ? Adela was a very nice young girl, to
be sure, a very nice girl indeed, but one must
confess that she had her eyes open. Would it not
be well for united Wanley to let her know its
opinion of such doings?
In the meantime Eichard was enjoying him-
self, with as little thought of the Wanley gossips
as of — shall we say, the old curtained pew in
Wanley Church ? He was perfectly aware that
the Walthams did not represent tlie highest
gentility, that there was a considerable interval,
for example, between Mrs. Waltham and Mrs.
Westlake ; but the fact remained that he had
never yet been on intimate terms with a family
so refined. Eadical revolutionist thougli he was,
lie had none of the grossness or obstinacy which
would have denied to the bourgeois household
any advantage over those of his own class. At
dinner he found himself behaving circumspectly.
He knew already that the cultivated taste objects
to the use of a table-knife save for purposes of
cutting ; on the whole he saw grounds for the
objection. He knew, moreover, that manduca-
tion and the absorption of fluids must be per-
formed without audible gusto ; tlie knowledge
cost him some self-criticism. But there w^ere
numerous minor points of convention on which
he was not so clear ; it had never occurred to
DEMOS 169
liim, for instance, that civilisation demands the
breaking of bread, that, in the absence of silver,
a fork must suffice for the dissection of fish, that
a napkin is a graceful auxihary in the process
of a meal and not rather an embarrassing super-
fluity of furtive application. Like a wise man,
he did not talk much during dinner, devoting
his mind to observation. Of one thing he
speedily became aware, namely that Mr. Alfred
Waltham was so very nuich in Jiis own house
that it was not wholly safe to regard his de-
meanour as exemplary. Another point well
certified was that if any person in the world
could be pointed to as an unassailable pattern
of comely behaviour that person w^as Mr. Alfred
Waltham's sister. Eichard observed Adela as
closely as good manners would allow.
Talking little as yet — the young man at
the head of the table gave others every facility
for silence — Eichard could occupy his thought
in many directions. Among other things, he
instituted a comparison between the young
lady who sat opposite to him and someone —
not a young lady, it is true, but of the same
sex and about the same age. He tried to
imagine Emma Yine seated at this table ; the
effort resulted in a disagreeable warmth in the
lobes of his ears. Yes, but — he attacked him-
self— not Emma Vine dressed as he was ac-
customed to see her ; suppose her possessed of
I70 DEMOS
all Adela Waltliam's exterior advantages. As
his imagination was working on the hint,
Adela herself addressed a question to him.
He looked up, he let her voice repeat itself in
inward echo. His ears were still more dis-
agreeably warm.
It was a lovely day — warm enough to dine
with the windows open. The faintest air
seemed to waft sunhght from corner to corner
of the room ; numberless birds sang on the
near boughs and hedges; the flowers on the
table were like a careless gift of gold-hearted
prodigal summer. Eichard transferred himself
in spirit to a certain square on the borders of
Hoxton and Islington, within scent of the
Eegent's Canal. The house there was now in-
habited by Emma and her sisters ; they also
would be at dinner. Suppose he had the
choice : there or here ? Adela addressed to
him Tanother question. The square vanished
into space.
How often he had spoken scornfully of
that word 'lady'! Were not all of the sex
women ? What need for that hateful distinc-
tion ? Eichard tried another experiment with
his imagination. ' I had dinner with some
people called Waltham last Sunday. Tlie old
woman I didn't much care about ; but there
was a young woman ' Well, why not ?
On the other hand suppose Emma Vine called
DEMOS 171
at his lodgings. ' A young woman called this
morning, sir ' Well, why not ?
Dessert was on the table. He saw Adela's
fingers take an orange, her other hand holding
a little fruit-knife. Now, who could have ima-
gined that the simple paring of an orange
could be achieved at once with such consum-
mate grace and so naturally? In Eichard's
country they first bite off a fraction of the skin,
then dig away with what of finger-nail may be
available. He knew someone who would as-
suredly proceed in that way.
Metamorphosis ! Eichard Mutimer specu-
lates on a3sthetic problems.
' You, gentlemen, I dare say will be wicked
enough to smoke,' remarked Mrs. Waltham, as
she rose from the table.
' I tell you what we shall be wicked enough
to do, mother,' exclaimed Alfred. ' We shall
have two cups of coffee brought out into the
garden, and spare your furniture ! '
' Very well, my son. Your tvco cups evi-
dently mean that Adela and I are not invited
to the garden.'
' Nothing of the kind. But I know you
always go to sleep, and Adela doesn't like to-
bacco smoke.'
'I go to sleep, Alfred! You know very
well that I have a very different occupation for
my Sunday afternoons.'
172 DEMOS
' I really don't care anything about smok-
ing,' observed Mutimer, with a glance at
Adela.
' Oh, you certainly shall not deprive yourself
on my account, Mr. Mutimer,' said the girl,
good-naturedly. ' I hope soon to come out
into the garden, and I am not at all sure that
my objection to tobacco is serious.'
Ah, if Mrs. Mewling could have heard that
speech ! Mrs. Mewling 's age was something
less than fifty ; probably she had had time to
forget how a young girl such as Adela speaks
in pure frankness and never looks back to muse
over a double meaning.
It was nearly three o'clock. Adela com-
pared her watch with the sitting-room clock, and,
the gentlemen having retired, moved about tlie
room with a look of uneasiness. Her mother
stood at the window, seemingly regarding the
sky, in reality occupying her thoughts with
things much nearer. She turned and found
Adela looking at her.
' I want just to run over and speak to Letty,'
Adela said. ' I shall very soon be back.'
' Very well, dear,' replied her mother, scan-
ning her face absently. 'But don't let them
keep you.'
Adela quickly fetched her hat and left the
house. It was her habit to walk at a good
pace, always with the same airy movement, as
DEMOS 173
though her feet only in appearance pressed the
ground. On the way she again consulted her
watch, and it caused her to flit still faster.
Arrived at the abode of the Tews, she fortu-
nately found Letty in the garden, sitting with
two younger sisters, one a child of ^v^ years.
Miss Tew was reading aloud to them, her book
being ' Pilgrim's Progress.' At the sight of
Adela the youngest of the three slipped down
from her seat and ran to meet her with laughter
and shaking of curls.
' Carry me round ! carry me round ! ' cried
the little one.
For it was Adela's habit to snatch up the
flaxen Httle maiden, seat her upon her shoulder,
and trot merrily round a circular path in the
garden. But the sister next in age, whose
thirteenth year had developed deep convictions,
interposed sharply —
' Eva, don't be naughty ! Isn't it Sunday .? '
The little one, saved on the very brink of
iniquity, turned away in confusion and stood
with a finger in her mouth.
' I'll come and carry you round to-morrow,
Eva,' said the visitor, stooping to kiss the reluc-
tant face. Then, turning to the admonitress,
' Jessie, will you read a little.^ I want just to
speak to Letty.'
Miss Jessie took the volume, made her
countenance yet sterner, and, having drawn
174 DEMOS
Eva to her side, began to read in measured
tones, reproducing as well as she could the
enunciation of the pulpit. Adela beckoned to
her friend, and the two walked apart.
'I'm in such a %^'^ she began, speaking
hurriedly, ' and there isn't a minute to lose.
Mr. Mutimer has been having dinner with us ;
Alfred invited him. And I expect Mr. Eldon
to come about four o'clock. I met him yester-
day on the Hill ; he came up just as I was
looking out for Alfred with the glass, and I
asked him if he wouldn't come and say good-
bye to mother this afternoon. Of course I'd
no idea that Mr. Mutimer would come to dinner;
he always goes away for Sunday. Isn't it dread-
fully awkward ? '
' You think he wouldn't like to meet Mr.
Mutimer ? ' asked Letty, savouring the gravity
of the situation.
' I'm sure he wouldn't. He spoke about
him yesterday. Of course he didn't say any-
thing against Mr. Mutimer, but I could tell from
his way of speaking. And then it's quite
natural, isn't it ? I'm really afi^aid. He'll think
it so unkind of me. I told him we should be
alone, and I shan't be able to explain. Isn't it
tiresome ? '
' It is, really ! But of course Mr. Eldon
will understand. To think that it should happen
just this day ! '
DEMOS 175
An idea flashed across ]\Iiss Tew's mind.
' Couldn't you be at the door when he
comes, and just — just say, you know, that you're
sorry, that you knew nothing about Mr. Mu timer
coming ?
'I've thought of something else,' returned
Adela, lowering her voice, as if to impart a
project of doubtful propriety. 'Suppose I walk
towards the Manor and — and meet him on the
way, before he gets very far ? Then I could
save him the annoyance, couldn't I, dear ? '
Letty widened her eyes. The idea was
splendid, but —
' You don't think, dear, that it might be a
little — that you might find it ? '
Adela reddened.
' It is only a piece of kindness. Mr. Eldon
will understand, I'm sure. He asked me so
particularly if we should be alone. I really
feel it a duty. Don't you think I may go .^ I
must decide at once.'
Letty hesitated.
' If you really advise me not to ' pur-
sued Adela. 'But I'm sure I shall be glad
when it's done.'
' Then go, dear. Yes, I would go if I were
you.'
Adela now faltered.
' You really would go, in my place ? '
' Yes, yes, I'm sure I should. You see, it
176 DEMOS
isn't as if it was Mr. Miitimer you were going
to meet.'
' Oh, no, no ! That would be impossible.'
' He will be very grateful,' murmured Letty,
without looking up.
' If I go, it must be at once.'
' Your mother doesn't know he was com-
ing?'
' No. I don't know why I haven't told her,
really. I suppose we were talking so much of
other things last night. And then I only got
home just as Alfred did, and he said at once
that he had invited Mr. Mutimer. Yea, I will
go. Perhaps I'll come and see you again after
church.'
Letty went back to ' Pilgrim's Progress.'
Her sister Jessie enjoyed the sound of her own
voice, and did not offer to surrender the book,
so she sat by little Eva's side and resumed her
Sunday face.
Adela took the road for the Manor, resisting
the impulse to cast glances on either side as
she passed the houses at the end of the village.
She felt it to be more than likely that eyes
were observing her, as it was an unusual time
for her to be abroad, and the direction of her
walk pointed unmistakably to one destination.
But she made no account of secrecy ; her
errand was perfectly simple and with an object
that no one could censure. If people tattled.
DEMOS 177
they alone were to blame. For the first time
she experienced a little resentment of the
public criticism which was so rife in Wanley.
and the experience was useful — one of those
inappreciable aids to independence which act
by cumulative stress on a character capable or
development and softly mould its outlines.
She passed the church, then the vicarage,
and entered the hedgeway which by a long
curve led to the Manor. She was slackening
her pace, not wishing to approach too near to
the house, when she at length saw Hubert
Eldon walking towards her. He advanced
with a look which Avas not exactly indifferent
yet showed no surprise ; the smile only came
to his face when he Avas near enough to speak.
'I have come to meet you,' Adela began,
with frankness which cost her a little agitation
of breath. ' I am so very sorry to have misled
you yesterday. As soon as I reached home, I
found that my brother had invited Mr. Mutimer
for to-day. I thought it would be best if I
came and told you that — that we were not
quite alone, as I said we shotild be.'
As she spoke Adela became distressed by
perceiving, or seeming to perceive, that the
cause which had led her to this step was quite
inadequate. Of course it was the result of her
having to forbear mention of the real point at
issue ; she could not say that she feared it
VOL. I. N
178 DEMOS
might be disagreeable to her hearer to meet
Muthner. But, put in the other way, her
pretext for coming appeared trivial. Only
with an extreme effort she preserved her even
tone to the end of her speech.
'It is very kind of you,' Hubert replied
almost warmly. ' I'm very sorry you have had
the trouble.'
As she disclaimed thanks, Eldon's tact dis-
covered the way of safety. Facing her with a
quiet openness of look, he said, in a tone of
pleasant directness which Adela had often felt
to be peculiarly his own —
' I shall best thank you by admitting that I
should have found it very unpleasant to meet
Mr. Mutimer. You felt that, and hence your
kindness. At the same time, no doubt, you
pity me for my littleness.'
' I think it perfectly natural that such a
meeting should be disagreeable. I believe I
understand your feeling. Indeed, you explained
it to me yesterday.'
' I explained it ? '
' In what you said about the works in the
valley.'
' True. Many people would have inter-
preted me less liberally.'
Adela's eyes brightened a little. But
when she raised them, they fell upon some-
thins^ which disturbed her cheerfulness. This
DEMOS 179
was the face of Mrs. Mewling, who had come up
from the direction of Wanley and was clearly
about to pay a visit at the Manor. The lady
smiled and murmured a greeting as she passed
' I suppose Mrs. Mewling is going to see my
mother,' said Hubert, w^ho also had lost a little
of his naturalness.
A few more w^ords and they again parted.
Nothing further was said of the postponed
visit. Adela hastened homewards, dreading
lest she had made a great mistake, yet glad
that she had ventured to come.
Her mother was just going out into the
garden, where Alfred's voice sounded frequently
in laughter or denunciation. Adela would
have been glad to sit alone for a short time,
but Mrs. Waltham seemed to wish for her
company. She had only time to glance at
herself in her looking-glass and just press a
palm against each cheek.
Alfred was puffing clouds from his briar
pipe, but Mu timer had ceased smoking. Near
the latter was a vacant seat ; Adela took it,
as there was no other.
' What a good thing the day of rest is ! '
exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. 'I always feel
thankful when I think of the poor men who
toil so all through the w^eek in Belwick, and
how they must enjoy their Sunday. You
k2
i8o DEMOS
surely wouldn't make any change in tliat^ Mr.
Mutimer ? '
' The change I should like to see would be
in the other direction,' Eichard replied. 'I
would have holidays far more frequent. In
the towns you can scarcely call Sunday a holi-
day. There's nothing to do but to walk about
the streets. On the whole it does far more
harm than good.'
' Do they never go to church ? ' asked
Adela. She was experiencing a sort of irri-
tation against their guest, a feeling traceable
to more than one source ; Mutimer's -frequent
glances did not tend to soothe it. She asked
the question rather in a spirit of adverse criti-
cism.
' The working people don't,' was the reply,
* except a Dissenting family here and there.'
' Perhaps that is one explanation of the
Sundays being useless to them.'
Adela would scarcely have ventured upon
such a tone in reference to any secular matter ;
the subject being religion, she was of course
justified in expressing herself freely.
Mutimer smiled and held back his rejoin-
der for a moment. By that time Alfred had
taken his pipe from his lips and was giving
utterance to unmeasured scorn.
'But, Mr. Mutimer,' said Mrs. Waltham,
wvaing aside her son's vehemence, *you don't
DEMOS i8i
seriously tell us that the working people have
no religion ? Surely that would be too shock-
ing!'
' Yes, I say it seriously, Mrs. Waltham.
In the ordinary sense of the word, they have
no religion. The truth is, they have no time
to think of it.'
' Oh, but surely it needs no thought '
Alfred exploded.
' I mean,' pursued his mother, ' that, how-
ever busy we are, there must always be intervals
to be spared from the world.'
Mutimer again delayed his reply. A look
which he cast at Adela appeared to move her
to speech.
' Have they not their evenings free, as well
as every Sunday ? '
' Happily, Miss Waltham, you can't realise
their lives,' Pdchard began. He was not
smiling now ; Adela's tone had struck him like
a challenge, and he collected himself to meet
her. ' The man who lives on wages is never
free ; he sells himself body and soul to his
employer. What sort of freedom does a man
enjoy who may any day find himself and his
family on the point of starvation just because
he has lost his work ? All his life long he
has before his mind the fear of want — not only
of straitened means, mind you, but of desti-
tution and the workhouse. How can such a
1 82 DEMOS
man put aside his common cares ? Eeligion
is a luxury ; the working man has no luxuries.
Now, you speak of the free evenings ; people
always do, when they're asking why the work-
ing classes don't educate themselves. Do you
understand what that free eveninsj means ?
He gets home, say, at six o'clock, tired out ; he
has to be up again perhaps at five next morn-
ing. What can he do but just lie about half
asleep ? Why, that's the whole principle of
the capitalist system of employment ; it's calcu-
lated exactly how long a man can be made to
work in a day without making him incapable
of beginning again on the day following — ^just
as it's calculated exactly how little a man can
live upon, in the regulation of wages. If the
workman returned home with strength to spare,
employers would soon find it out, and work-
shop legislation would be revised — because of
course it's the capitalists that make the laws.
The principle is that a man shall have no
strength left for himself ; it's all paid for, every
scrap of it, bought with the wages at each week
end. What religion can such men have ?
Eeligion, I suppose, means thankfulness for
life and its pleasures — at all events, that's a
great part of it — and what has a wage-earner
to be thankful for ? '
'It sounds very shocking,' observed ]\irs.
Waltham. somewhat disturbed by the speaker's
DEMOS 183
growing earnestness. Eichard paid no attention
and continued to address Adela.
' I dare say you've lieard of the early trains —
workmen's trains — that they run on the London
railways. If only you could travel once by one
of those ! Between station and station there's
scarcely a man or boy in the carriage who can
keep awake ; there they sit, leaning over against
each other, their heads dropping forward, their
eyelids that heavy they can't hold them up. I
tell you, it's one of the most miserable sights
to be seen in this world. If you saw it, Miss
Waltham, you'd pity them, I'm very sure of
that ! You only need to know what their life
means. People who have never known hard-
ship often speak more cruelly than they think,
and of course it always will be so as long as the
rich and the poor are two different races, as
much apart as if there was an ocean between
them.'
Adela's cheeks were warm. It was a novel
sensation to be rebuked in this unconventional
way. She was feeling a touch of shame as well
as the shght resentment which was partly her
class-instinct, partly of her sex.
'I feel that I have no right to give any
opinion,' she said, in an undertone.
' Meaning, Adela,' commented her brother,
' that you have a very strong opinion and stick
to it.'
1 84 DEMOS
' One thing I dare say you are thinking, Miss
Waltham,' Eichard pursued, 'if you'll allow me
to say it. You think that I rayself don't exactly
prove what I've been saying — I mean to say,
that I at all events have had free time, not only
to read and reflect, but to give lectures and so
on. Yes, and I'll explain that. It was my
good fortune to have a father and mother who
were very careful and hard-working and
thoughtful people ; I and my sister and brother
were brought up in an orderly home, and taught
from the first that ceaseless labour and strict
economy were the things always to be .kept in
mind. All that was just fortunate chance \ I'm
not praising myself in saying I've been able to
get more into my time than most other working
men ; it's my father and mother I have to thank
for it. Suppose they'd been as ignorant and
careless as most of their class are made by the
hard lot they have to endure ; why, I should
have followed them, that's all. We've never
had to go without a meal, and why? Just
because we've all of us w^orked like slaves and
never allowed ourselves to think of rest or
enjoyment. When my father died, of course
we had to be more careful than ever ; but there
were three of us to earn money, fortunately,
and we kept up the home. We put our money
by for the club every week, what's more.'
'The club?' queried Miss Waltham, to
DEMOS 185
whom the word sucrc^ested Pall Mall and vac^ue
CO o
glories which dwelt in her imagination.
' That's to make provision for times when
we're ill or can't get work,' Mutimer explained.
' If a wage-earner falls ill, what has he to look
to? The capitalist won't trouble himself to
keep him alive ; there's plenty to take his place.
Well, that's my position, or was a few months
ago. I don't suppose any w^orking man has
had more advantages. Take it as an example
of the most we can hope for, and pray say what
it amounts to ! Just on the right side, just
keeping afloat, just screwing out an hour here
and there to work your brain when you ought
to be taking^ wholesome recreation ! That's
nothing very grand, it seems to me. Yet
people will point to it and ask what there is
to grumble at ! '
Adela sat uneasily under Mutimer 's gaze ;
she kept her eyes down.
' And I'm not sure that I should always
have got on as easily,' the speaker continued.
' Only a day or two before I heard of my rela-
tive's death, I'd just been dismissed from my
employment ; that was because they didn't like
my opinions. Well, I don't say they hadn't
a right to dismiss me, just as I suppose you've
a right to kill as many of -the enemy as you
can in time of war. But suppose I couldn't
have got work anywhere. I had nothing but
iS6 DEMOS
my hands to depend upon ; if I couldn't sell my
muscles I must starve, that's all.'
Adela looked at him for almost the first
time. She had heard this story from her
brother, but it came more impressively from
Mu timer's own lips. A sort of heroism was
involved in it, the championship of a cause
regardless of self. She remained thoughtful
with troublous colours on her face.
Mrs. Waltham was more obviously uneasy.
There are certain things to which in good
society one does not refer, first and foremost
humiliating antecedents. The present circum-
stances were exceptional to be sure, but it was
to be hoped that Mr. Mutimer would outgrow
this habit of advertising his origin. Let him
talk of the working classes if he liked, but
always in the third person. The good lady
began to reflect whether she might not venture
shortly to give him friendly hints on this and
similar subjects.
But it was nearly tea-time. Mrs. Waltham
shortly rose and went into the house, whither
Alfred followed her. Mutimer kept his seat,
and Adela could not leave him to himself,
though for the moment he seemed unconscious
of her presence. When they had been alone
together for a little while, Eichard broke the
silence.
' I hope 1 didn't speak rudely to you, Miss
DEMOS 187
Waltliam. I don't think I need fear to say
what I mean, but I know there are always two
ways of saymg things, and perhaps I chose the
roughest.'
Adela was conscious of having said a few
hard things mentally, and this apology, de-
livered in a very honest voice, appealed to her
instmct of justice. She did not like Mutimer,
and consequently strove against the prejudice
which the very sound of his voice aroused in
her ; it was her nature to aim thus at equity in
her personal judgments.
' To describe hard things we must use hard
words,' she replied pleasantly, ' but you said
nothing that could offend.'
' I fear you haven't much sympathy with
my way of looking at the question. I seem to
you to be going to work the wrong way.'
' I certainly think you value too little the
means of happiness that we all have within our
reach, rich and poor alike.'
' Ah, if you could only see into the life of
the poor, you would acknowledge that those
means are and can be nothing to them. Besides,
my way of thinking in such things is the same
as your brother's, and I can't expect you to see
any good in it.'
Adela shook her head slightly. She had
risen and was examining the leaves upon an
apple branch which she had drawn down.
1 88 DEMOS
^ But I'm sure 3^ou feel that tliere is need
for doing something,' he urged, quitting his
seat. ' You're not indifferent to the hard lives
of the people, as most people are who have
always lived comfortable lives ? '
She let the branch spring up, and spoke
more coldly.
' I hope I am not indifferent, but it is not
in my power to do anything.'
' Will you let me say that you are mistaken
in that?' Mutimer had never before felt him-
self constrained to qualify and adorn his phrases ;
the necessity made him. awkward. N'o.t only
did he aim at polite modes of speech altogether
foreign to his lips, but his OAvn voice sounded
strange to him in its forced suppression. He did
not as yet succeed in regarding himself from
the outside and criticising the influences which
had got hold upon him ; he was only conscious
that a young lady — the very type of young lady
that a little while ago he would have held up
for scorn — was subduing his nature by her
mere presence and exacting homage from him
to which she was wholly indifferent. * Every-
one can give help in such a cause as this. You
can work upon the minds of the people you
talk with and get them to throw away their
prejudices. The cause of the working classes
seems so hopeless just because they're too far
DEMOS 189
away to catch the ears of those who oppress
them.'
' I do not oppress them, Mr. Mutimer.'
Adela spoke with a touch of impatience"
She wished to bring this conversation to an end,
and the man would give her no opportunity of
doing so. She was not in reaUty paying atten-
tion to his arguments, as was evident in her
echo of his last words.
'Not wilhngly, but none the less you do
so,' he rejoined. ' Everyone wdio lives at ease
and without a thought of changing the present
state of society is tyrannising over the j^eople^
Every article of clothing you put on means a
hfe worn out somewhere in a factory. What
would your existence be without the toil of
those men and women who live and die in
want of every comfort which seems as natural
to you as the air you breathe .^ Don't you feel
that you owe them something? It's a debt
that can very easily be forgotten, I know that,
and just because the creditors are too weak to
claim it. Think of it in that way, and I'm
quite sure you won't let it shp from your mind
agam.
Alfred came towards them, announcin«^
that tea was ready, and Adela gladly moved
away.
' You won't make any impression there,'
said Alfred, with a shrug of good-natured
190 DEMOS
contempt. 'Argument isn't understood by
women. Now, if you were a revivalist
preacher '
Mrs. Waltham and Adela went to church.
Mutimer returned to his lodgings, leaving his
friend Waltham smoking in the garden.
On the way home after service, Adela had
a brief murmured conversation with Letty
Tew. Her mother was walking with Mrs.
Mewling.
' It was evidently pre-arranged,' said the
latter, after recounting certain details in a tone
of confidence. ' I was quite shocked. On his
part such conduct is nothing less than dis-
graceful. Adela, of course, cannot be expected
to know.'
' I must tell her,' was the reply.
Adela was sitting rather dreamily in her
bedroom a couple of hours later when her
mother entered.
' Little girls shouldn't tell stories,' Mrs.
Waltham began, with playfulness which was
not quite natural. ' Who was it that wanted
to go and speak a word to Letty this after-
noon ? '
'It wasn't altogether a story, mother,*
pleaded the girl, shamed, but with an en-
deavour to speak independently. ' I did want
to speak to Letty.*
I
DEMOS 191
' And you put it off, I suppose ? Eeally,
Adela, you must remember that a girl of your
age has to be mindful of her self-respect. In
Wanley you can't escape notice ; besides *
' Let me explain, mother.' Adela's voice
was made firm by the suggestion that she had
behaved unbecomingly. 'I went to Letty first
of all to tell her of a difficulty I was in. Yes-
terday afternoon I happened to meet Mr. Eldon,
and when he was saying good-bye I asked him
if he wouldn't come and see you before he left
Wanley. He promised to come this afternoon.
At the time of course I didn't know that Alfred
had invited Mr. Mutimer. It would have
been so disagreeable for Mr. Eldon to meet
him here, I made up my mind to walk towards
the Manor and tell Mr. Eldon what had hap-
pened.'
' Why should Mr. Eldon have found the
meeting with Mr. Mutimer disagreeable ? '
' They don't like each other.'
' I dare say not. Perhaps it was as well
Mr. Eldon didn't come. I should most likely
have refused to see him.'
' Eefused to see him, mother ? '
Adela gazed in the utmost astonishment.
' Yes, my dear. I haven't spoken to you
about Mr. Eldon, just because I took it for
granted that he would never come in your way
again. That he should have dared to speak to
192
DEMOS
you is something beyond what I could have
imagined. When I went to see Mrs. Eldon on
Friday I didn't take you with me, for fear lest
that young man should show himself. It was
impossible for you to be in the same room with
him.'
'With Mr. Hubert Eldon? My dearest
mother, what are you saying ? '
' Of course it surprises you, Adela. I too
was surprised. I thought there might be no
need to speak to you of things you ought never
to hear mentioned, but now I am afraid I have
no choice. The sad truth is that Mr. Eldon
has utterly disgraced himself. When he ought
to have been here to attend Mr. Mutimer's
funeral, he was living at Paris and other such
places in the most shocking dissipation. Things
are reported of him which I could not breathe
to you ; he is a bad young man ! '
The inclusiveness of that description ! Mrs.
Waltham's head quivered as she gave utterance
to the words, for at least half of the feehng she
expressed was genuine. To her hearer the
final phrase was like a thunderstroke. In a
certain profound work on the history of her
country which she had been in the habit of
studying, the author, discussing the character
of Oliver Cromwell, achieved a most impressive
chmax in the words, ' He was a bold, bad
man.' The adjective ' bad ' derived for Adela
DEMOS 193
a dark energy from her recollection of that
passage ; it connoted every imaginable phase of
moral degradation. ' Dissipation ' too ; to her
pnre mind the word had a terrible sound ; it
sketched in lurid' outlines hideous lurkino^-
places of vice and disease. ' Paris and other
such places.' With the name of Paris she
associated a feeling of reprobation ; Paris was
the head-quarters of sin — at all events on earth.
In Paris people went to the theatre on Sunday ;
that fact alone shed storm-light over the iniqui-
tous capital.
She stood mute with misery, appalled, horri-
iied. It did not occur to her to doubt the
truth of her mother's accusations : the strano-e
circumstance of Hubert's absence when every
sentiment of decency would have summoned
him home corroborated the charge. And she
had talked familiarly with this man a few hours
ago ! Her head swam.
' Mr. Mu timer knew it,' proceeded her
mother, noting with satisfaction the effect she
was producing. ' That was why he destroyed
the will in which he had left everything to Mr.
Eldon ; I have no doubt the grief killed him.
And one thing more I may tell you. Mr.
Eldon's illness was the result of a wound he
received in some shameful quarrel; it is be-
lieved that he fought a duel.'
VOL. I. 0
194 DEMOS
The girl sank back upon her chair. She
was white and breathed with difficulty.
' You will understand now, my dear,' Mrs.
Waltham continued, more in her ordinary
voice, ' why it so shocked me to hear that you
had been seen talking with Mr. Eldon near the
Manor. I feared it was an appointment. Your
explanation is all I wanted : it relieves me.
The worst of it is, other people will hear of it,
and of course we can t explain to everyone.'
' Why should people hear .^ ' Adela ex-
claimed, in a quivering vcice. It was not
that she feared to have the story known, but
mingled feelings made her almost passionate.
' Mrs. Mewling has no right to go about talking
of me. It is very ill-bred, to say nothing of
the unkindness.'
' Ah, but it is what we have to be prepared
for, Adela. That is the world, my child. You
see how very careful one has to be. But never
mind ; it is most fortunate that the Eklons are
going. I am so sorry for poor Mrs. Eldon ;
who could have thought that her son would
turn out so badly! And to think that he
would have dared to come into my house ! At
least he had the decency not to show himself
at church.'
Adela sat silent. The warring of her heart
made outward sounds indistinct.
' After all,' pursued her mother, as if making
DEMOS 195
a great concession, ' I fear it is only too true
that those old families become degenerate.
One does hear such shockinor stories of the
aristocracy. But get to bed, dear, and don't
let this trouble you. What a very ^ood thing
that all that wealth didn't go into such hands,
isn't it ? Mr. Mutimer will at all events use it
in a decent way ; it won't be scattered in
vulgar dissipation. — Xow kiss me, dear. I
haven't been scolding you, pet ; it was only
that I felt I had perhaps made a mistake in not
telling you these things before, and I blamed
myself rather than you.'
Mrs. Waltham returned to her own room,
and, after a brief turning over of speculations
and projects begotten of the new aspect of
things, found her reward for conscientiousness
in peaceful slumber. But Adela was late in
falling asleep. She, too, had many things
to revolve, not worldly calculations, but the
troubled phantasies of a virgin mind which is
experiencing its first shock against the barriers
of fate.
0 2
196 DEMOS
CHAPTER IX.
PiiCHARD MuTiMER had stroiig domestic affec-
tions. The English artisan is not demonstrative
in such matters, and throughout his hfe Pdchard
had probably exchanged no word of endear-
ment with any one of his kin, whereas -language
of the tempestuous kind was common enough
from him to one and all of them ; for all that,
he clung closely to the hearth, and nothing in
truth concerned him so nearly as the well-being
of his mother, his sister, and his brother. For
them he had rejoiced as much as for himself in
the blessing of fortune. Now that the excite-
ment of change had had time to subside, Eichard
found himself realising the fact that capital
creates cares as well as removes them, and just
now the centre of his anxieties lay in the house
at Higlibury to which his family had removed
from Wilton Square.
He believed that as yet both the Princess
and 'Arry were ignorant of the true state of
affairs. It had been represented to them that
he had ' come in for ' a handsome legacy from
DEMOS 197
his relative in the Midlands, toe^ether with
certain business responsibihties which would
keep him much away from home ; they were
given to understand that the change in their
own position and prospects was entirely of their
brother's making. If Alice Maud was allowed
to give up her work, to wear more expensive
gowns, even to receive lessons on the pianoforte,
she had to thank Dick for it. And when 'Arry
was told that his clerkship at the drain-pipe
manufactory was about to terminate, that he
might enter upon a career likely to be more
fruitful of distinction, again it was Dick's
brotherly kindness. Mrs. Mutimer did her best
to keep up this deception.
But Eichard was well aware that the decep-
tion could not be lasting, and had the Princess
alone been concerned he would probably never
have commenced it. It was about his brother
that he was really anxious. 'Arry might hear
the truth any day, and Eichard gravely feared
the result of such a discovery. Had he been
destined to future statesmanship, he could not
have gone through a more profitable course of
experience and reasoning than that into which
he was led by brotherly solicitude. For 'Arry
represented a very large section of Demos,
alike in his natural characteristics and in the
circumstances of his position ; 'Arry, being
'Arry, was on the threshold of emancipation,
198 DEMOS
and without tlie smallest likelihood that the
event would change his nature. Hence the nut
to crack : Given 'Arry, by what rapid process
of discipline can he be prepared for a state in
which the 'Arrian characteristics will surely
prove ruinous not only to himself but to all
with whom he has dealings ?
Eichard saw reason to deeply regret that the
youth had been put to clerking in the first in-
stance, and not rather trained for some handi-
craft, clerkships being about the least hopeful of
positions for a working-class lad of small parts
and pronounced blackguard tendencies. He
came to the conclusion that even now it was
not too late to remedy this error. 'Arry must
be taught what work meant, and, before he
came into possession of his means, he must, if
possible, be led to devote his poor washy brains
to some pursuit quite compatible with the
standing of a capitalist, to acquire knowledge
of a kind which he could afterwards use for the
benefit of his own pocket. Deficient bodily
vigour had had something to do with his eleva-
tion to the office of the drain-pipe factory, but
that he appeared to have outgrown. Much
pondering enabled Eichard to hit at length on
what he considered a hopeful scheme ; he
would apprentice 'Arry to engineering, and
send him in the evenings to follow the courses
of lectures given to working men at the School
DEMOS 199
of Mines. In this way the lad would be kept
constantly occupied, he would learn the mean-
ing of work and study, and when he became of
age would be in a position to take up some
capitalist enterprise. Thus he might float clear
of the shoals of blackguardism and develop into
a tolerable member of society, at all events
using his wealth in the direct employment of
labour.
We have seen Eichard engaged in iBsthetic
speculation ; now we behold him busied in the
training of a representative capitalist. But the
world would be a terrible place if the men of
individual energy were at all times consistent.
Eichard knew well enough that in planning
thus for his brother's future he was inconsistency
itself; but then the matter at issue concerned
someone in whom he had a strong personal
interest, and consequently he took counsel of
facts. When it was only the world at large
that he Avas bent on benefiting, too shrewd a
sifting of arguments was not called for, and
might seriously have interfered with his oratorical
effects. In regulating private interests one cares
singularly little for anything but hard demon-
stration and the lof^ic of cause and effect.
It was now more than a month since 'Arry
had been removed from the drain-pipes and set
going on his new course, and Eichard was
watching the experiment gravely. Connected
200 DEMOS
with it was liis exceptional stay at Wanley over
the Sunday ; he designed to go up to London
quite unexpectedly about the middle of the
ensuing week, that he might see how things
worked in his absence. It is true there had
been another inducement to remain in the vil-
lage, for Eichard had troubles of his own in
addition to those imposed upon him by his
family. The Manor was now at his disposal ;
as soon as he had furnished it there w^as no
longer a reason for delaying his marriage. In
appearance, that is to say ; inwardly there had
been growing for some weeks reasons manifold.
They tormented him. For the first time in his
life he had begun to sleep indifferently ; when
he had resolutely put from his mind thought of
Alice and 'Arry, and seemed ready for repose,
there crept out of less obvious lurking-places
subtle temptations and suggestions which fevered
his blood and only allured the more, the more
they disquieted him. This Sunday night was
the w^orst he had yet known. When he left
the Walthams, he occupied himself for an hour
or two in writing letters, resolutely subduing
his thoughts to the subjects of his correspondence.
Then he ate supper, and after that walked to the
top of Stanbury Hill, hoping to tire himself.
But he returned as little prepared for sleep as
he had set out. Now he endeavoured to think
of Emma Vine ; by way of help, he sat down
I
DEMOS 20I
and began a letter to her. But composition
had never been so difficult ; he positively had
nothing to say. Still he must think of her.
When he went up to town on Tuesday or Wed-
nesday one of his first duties would be to
appoint a day for his marriage. And he felt
that it would be a duty harder to perform than
any he had ever known. She seemed to have
drifted so far from him, or he from her. It
was difficult even to see her face in imagination ;
another face always came instead, and indeed
needed no summoning.
He rose next mornino- Avitli a stern deter-
mination to marry Emma Vine in less than a
month from that date.
On Tuesday he went to London. A hansom
put him down before the house in Highbury
about six o'clock. It was a semi-detached
villa, stuccoed, bow-windowed, of two storeys,
standing pleasantly on a wide road skirted by
similar dwellings, and with a row of acacias in
front. He admitted himself with a latch-key
and walked at once into the front room ; it
was vacant. He went to the dining-room and
there found his mother at tea with Alice and
'Arry.
Mrs. Mutimer and her younger son were in
appearance very much what they had been in
their former state. The mother's dress was of
better material, but she was not otherwise
202 DEMOS
outwardly cliangecl. 'Arry was attired nearly
as when w^e saw liini in a festive condition on
the evening of Easter Sunday ; the elegance
then reserved for high days and holidays now
distinguished him every evening when the guise
of the workshop was thrown off. He still wore
a waistcoat of pronounced cut, a striking collar,
a necktie of remarkable hue. It was not neces-
sary to approach him closely to be aware that
his person was sprinkled with perfumes. A
recent acquisition was a heavy-looking ring on
the little finger of his right hand. Had you
been of his intimates, 'Arry would have ex-
plained to you the double advantage of this
ring ; not only did it serve as an adornment,
but, as playful demonstration might indicate,
it would prove of singular efficacy in pugilistic
conflict.
At the sight of his elder brother, 'Arry
hastily put his hands beneath the table, drew
ofip the ornament, and consigned it furtively to
his waistcoat pocket.
But AUce Maud was by no means what she
had been. In all that concerned his sister,
Mutimer was weak ; he could quarrel with
her, and abuse her roundly for frailties, but
none the less was it one of his keenest pleasures
to see her contented, even in ways that went
quite against his conscience. He might rail
against the vanity of dress, but if Alice needed
DEMOS 203
a new gown, Eichard was the first to notice it.
The neat httle silver watch she carried w^as a
gift from himself of some years back ; with
difficnlty he had resisted the temptation to
replace it with a gold one now that it was in
his powxr to do so. Tolerable taste and handi-
ness with her needle liad always kept Alice
rather more ladylike in appearance than the
girls of her class are wont to be, but such com-
parative distinction no longer sufficed. After
certain struggles with himself, Eichard had told
his mother that Alice must in future dress ' as
a lady ' ; he authorised her to procure the
services of a competent dressmaker, and, w^ithin
the bounds of moderation, to expend freely.
And the result was on the whole satisfactory.
A girl of good figure, pretty face, and moderate
wit, who has spent some years in a City show-
room, does not need much instruction in the
art of wearing fashionable attire becomingly.
Alice wore this evenins^ a i2:own which would
not have been out of place at five o'clock in
a West-end drawiog-room ; the sleeves were
rather short, sufficiently so to exhibit a very
shapely lower arm. She had discovered new
ways of doing her hair ; at present it was
braided on either side of the forehead — a style
which gave almost a thoughtful air to her face.
When her brother entered she was eating a
piece of sponge-cake, which she lield to her
204 DEMOS
lips with peculiar delicacy, as if rehearsing
graces.
' Why, there now ! ' cried Mrs. Mutimer,
pleased to see her son. 'If I wasn't saying
not five minutes ago as Dick was likely to come
some day in the week ! Wasn't I, Alice ?
What'll you have for your tea .^ There's some
chops all ready in the 'ouse, if you'd care for
them.'
Eichard was not in a cheerful mood. He
made no reply immediately, but went and
stood before the fireplace, as he had been
accustomed to do in the old kitchen.
'Will you have a chop?' repeated his
mother.
'No; I Avon't eat just yet. But you can
give me a cup of tea.'
Mrs. Mutimer and Alice exchano-ed a
glance, as the former bent over the teapot.
Eichard was regarding his brother askance,
and it resulted in a question, rather sharply
put —
^ Have you been to work to-day ? '
'Any would have lied had he dared ; as it
was, he made his plate revolve, and murmured,
^ No ; he 'adn't.'
^ Why not?'
' I didn't feel well,' replied the youth, strug-
gling for self-confidence and doing liis l)est to
put on an air of patient suffering.
DEMOS 205
Eichard tapped his tea-cup and looked the
look of one who reserves discussion for a more
seasonable time.
'Daniel called last night,' remarked Mrs.
Mutimer. ' He says he wants to see you. I
think it's something particular ; he seemed
disappointed you weren't at the meeting on
Sunday.'
' Did he ? I'll see if I can get round to-
night. If YOU like to have something cooked
for me about eight o'clock, mother,' he added,
consulting his w^atch ; ' I shall be ready for it
then.'
He turned to his brother again.
' Is there a class to-night ? Is o ? Very well,
when they've cleared aw^ay, get your books out
and show me what you've been doing. What
are you going to do with yourself, Alice ? '
The two addressed, as w^ell as their mother,
appeared to have some special cause for em-
barrassment. Instead of immediately replying,
Alice played with crumbs and stole glances on
either side.
' Me and 'Arry are going out,' she said at
length, Avith a rather timid smile and a poise of
the head in pretty wilfulness.
' Not 'Arry,' Eichard observed significantly.
' Why not ? ' came from the younger Muti-
mer, with access of boldness.
' If you're not well enough to go to work
2o6 DEMOS
you certainly don't go out at niglit for your
pleasure/
' But it's a particular occasion,' explained
Alice, leaning back with crossed arms, evidently
prepared to do battle. ' A friend of 'Arrj^'s is
going to call and take us to the theatre.'
' Oh, indeed ! And what friend is that ? '
Mrs. Mutimer, who had been talked over to
compliance with a project she felt Eichard
would not approve — she had no longer the old
authority, and spent her days in trying to piece
on the present life to the former — found refuge
in a habit more suitable to the kitchen than the
dinmg-room ; she had collected all the tea-
spoons within reach and was pouring hot-water
upon them in the slop-basin, the fmiiliar pre-
liminary to washing up.
' A gen'leman as lives near here,' responded
'Arry. ' He writes for the newspapers. His
name's Keene.'
' Oh ? And how came you to know him ? '
' Met him,' was the airy reply.
' And you've brought him here ? '
' Well, he's been here once.'
' He said as he wanted to know you, Dick,'
put in Mrs. Mutimer. ' He was really a civil-
spoken man, and he gave 'Arry a lot of help
with his books.'
' When was he here ? '
' Last Friday.'
DEMOS 207
' And to-uiglit lie wants to take you to the
theatre ? '
The question was addressed to Ahce.
' It won't cost him anything/ she rephed.
' He says he can always get free passes.'
' Xo doubt. Is he coming here to fetch
you? I shall be glad to see him.'
Eichard's tone was ambiguous. He put
down his cup, and said to Alice —
' Come and let me hear how you get on
with your playing.'
Alice followed into the drawing-room. For
the furnishing of the new house Eichard had
not trusted to his own instincts, but had taken
counsel with a firm that he knew from adver-
tisements. The result was commonplace, but
not intolerable. His front room was regarded
as the Princess's peculiar domain ; she alone
dared to use it freely — dechned, indeed, to sit
elsewhere. Her mother only came a few feet
within the door now and then ; if obliged by
Alice to sit down, she did so on the edge of
a cliair as near to the door as possible. Most
of her time Mrs. Mutimer still spent in the
kitchen. She had resolutely refused to keep
more than one servant, and everything that
servant did she herself performed over again,
even to the making of beds. To all Alice's
objections she opposed an obstinate silence.
What was the poor woman to do? She had
2o8 DEMOS
never in her life read more than an occasional
paragraph of police news, and could not be
expected to take up literature at her age.
Though she made no complaint, signs were
not wanting? that she had bee^un to suffer in
health. She fretted through the nights, and
was never really at peace save when she an-
ticipated the servant in rising early, and had
an honest scrub at saucepans or fireirons before
breakfast. Her main discomfort came of the
feeling that she no longer had a house of her
own ; nothing about her seemed to be her
property, with the exception of her old kitchen
clock, and one or two articles she could not
have borne to part with. From being a rather
talkative woman she had become very reti-
cent ; she w^ent about uneasily, with a look of
suspicion or of fear. Her children she no longer
ventured to command ; the secret of their
wealth weighed upon her, she was in constant
dread on their behalf. It is a bad thing for
one such as Mrs. Mutimer to be thrown back
upon herself in novel circumstances, and practi-
cally debarred from the only relief which will
avail her — free discussion with her own kind.
The result is a species of shock to the system,
sure to manifest itself before lons^ in one or
other form of debility.
Ahce seated herself at the piano, and began
a finger exercise, laboriously, imperfectly. For
DEMOS 209
the first week or two it had given her vast
satisfaction to be learning the piano ; what
more certain sign of having achieved ladyhood ?
It pleased her to assume airs with her teacher
— a very deferential lady — to put off a lesson
for a fit of languidness; to let it be understood
how entirely time was at her command. Now
she was growing rather weary of fiats and
sharps, and much preferred to read of persons
to whom the same nomenclature was very
applicable in the books she obtained from a
circulating library. Her reading had hitherto
been confined to the fiction of the penny
papers ; to procure her pleasure in three gaily-
bound volimies was another evidence of rise
in the social scale ; it was like ordering your
wine by the dozen after being accustomed to
a poor chance bottle now and then. At present
Ahce spent the greater part of her day floating
on the gentle milky stream of English romance.
Her brother was made a little uneasy by this
taste ; he had not studied the literature in
question.
At half-past six a loud knock at the front
door announced the expected visitor. Alice
turned from the piano, and looked at her
brother apprehensively. Eichard rose, and
established himself on the hearthrug, his hands
behind him.
VOL. I. p
2IO DEMOS
'What are you going to say to him, Dick?'
Ahce asked hurriedly.
' He says he wants to know me. I shall
, " Here I am." '
There were voices outside. 'Arry had
opened the door himself, and now he ushered
his acquaintance into the drawing-room. Mr.
Keene proved to be a man of uncertain age —
he might be eight-and-twenty, but was more
probably ten years older. He was meagre,
and of shrewd visage ; he wore a black frock
coat — rather shiny at the back — and his collar
was obviously of paper. Incipient baldness
endowed him in appearance with a noble fore-
head ; he carried eye-glasses.
Whilst 'Arry mumbled a form of introduc-
tion, the journalist — so Mr. Keene described
himself — stood in a bowing attitude, one hand
to his glasses, seeming to inspect Eichard with
extreme yet respectful interest. When he
spoke, it was in a rather mincing way, wdtli
interjected murmurs — the involuntary overflow,
as it were, of his deep satisfaction.
' There are few persons in England whose
acquaintance I desire more than that of Mr.
Eichard Mutimer ; indeed, I may leave the state-
ment unquahfied and say at once that there is
no one. I have heard you speak in public, Mr.
Mutimer. My profession has necessarily led me
to hear most of our platform orators, and in one
DEMOS 211
respect you distauce them all — in the quality of
sincerity. No speaker ever moved me as you
did. I had long been interested in your cause ;
I had long Avished for time and opportunity to
examine into it thoroughly. Your address — I
speak seriously — removed the necessity of
further study. I am of your party, Mr. Muti-
mer. There is nothing I desire so much as to
give and take the hand of brotherhood.'
He jerked his hand forward, still preserving
his respectful attitude. Eichard gave his own
hand carelessly, smiling as a man does who
cannot but enjoy flattery yet has a strong desire
to kick the flatterer out of the room.
' Are you a member of the Union .^ ' he
inquired.
' With pride I profess myself a member.
Some day — and that at no remote date — I may
have it in my power to serve the cause mate-
rially.' He smiled meaningly. ' The press —
you understand ? ' He spread his fingers to
represent wide dominion. ' An ally to whom
the columns of the bourgeois press are open —
you perceive ? It is the task of my life.'
' What papers do you write for ? ' asked
Mutimer bluntly.
' Several, several. Not as yet in a leading-
capacity. In fact, I am feeling my way. With
ends such as I propose to myself it won't do to
p 2
212 DEMOS
stand committed to any formal creed in politics.
Politics, indeed ! Ha, ha ! '
He laughed scornfully. Then, turning to
Alice —
'You will forgive me, I am sure, Miss*
Mu timer, that I address myself first to your
brother — I had almost said your illustrious
brother. To be confessed illustrious some day,
depend upon it. I trust you are well? '
' Thanks, I'm very well indeed,' murmured
Alice, rather disconcerted by such polite-
ness.
'And Mrs. Mutimer? That is well. By-
the-by,' he proceeded to Eichard, ' I have a
piece of work in hand that will deeply interest
you. I am translating the great treatise of
Marx, " Das Capital." It occurs to me that a
chapter now and then might see the light in the
" Fiery Cross." How do you view that sug-
gestion ? '
Eichard did not care to hide his suspicion,
and even such an announcement as this failed
to move him to cordiality.
'You might drop a line about it to Mr.
Westlake,' he said.
' Mr. Westlake ? Oh ! but I quite under-
stood that you had practically the conduct of
the paper.'
Richard again smiled.
' Mr. Westlake edits it,' he said.
I
DEMOS 213
Mr. Keene waved liis hand in sign of friendly
intelligence. Then he changed the subject.
' I ventured to put at Miss Mutimer's dis-
posal certain tickets I hold — professionally —
for the Eeofent's Theatre to-ni^ht — the dress
circle. I have five seats in all. May I have
the pleasure of your company, Mr. Mutimer ? '
' I'm only in town for a night,' Eichard
replied ; ' and I can't very well spare the
time.'
' To be sure, to be sure ; I was inconsiderate.
Then Miss Mutimer and my friend Harry '
' I'm sorry they're not at hberty,' was
Eichard's answer to the murmured interrogation.
' If they had accepted your invitation, be so
good as to excuse them. I happen to want
them particularly this evening.'
' In that case, I have of course not a word
to say, save to express my deep regret at losing
the pleasure of their company. But another
time, I trust. I — I feel presumptuous, but it is
my earnest hope to be allowed to stand on the
footing not only of a comrade in the cause, but
of a neighbour ; I live quite near. Forgive me
if I seem a little precipitate. The privilege is
so inestimable.'
Eichard made no answer, and Mr. Keene
forthwith took his leave, suave to the last.
When he was gone, Eichard went to the dining-
room, where his mother was sittim::^. Mrs.
214 DEMOS
Mutimer would have given much to be allowed
to sit in the kitchen ; she had a room of her
own upstairs, but there she felt too remote from
the centre of domestic operations, and the
dining-room was a compromise. Her chair w^as
always placed in a rather dusky corner ; she
generally had sewing on her lap, but the con-
sciousness that her needle was not ideally in
demand, and that she might just as well have
sat idle, troubled her habits of mind. She often
had the face of one growing prematurely
aged.
'• I hope you won't let them bring, anyone
they like,' Eichard said to her. ' I've sent that
fellow about his business ; he's here for no good.
He mustn't come again. '^
' They won't heed me,' replied Mrs. Muti-
mer, using the tone of little interest with which
she was accustomed to speak of details of the
new order.
' Well, then, they've (/c>^ to heed you, and I'll
have that understood. — Why didn't 'Arry go to
work to-day ? '
' Didn't want to, I s'pose.'
' Has he stayed at home often lately ? '
' Not at 'ome, but I expect he doesn't always
go to work.'
^ Will you go and sit with Alice in the front
room ? I'll have a talk with him.'
'Arry came whistling at the summons.
DEMOS 215
There was a nasty look on his face, the look
which in his character corresponded to Eichard's
resoluteness. His brother eyed him.
' Look here, 'Arry,' the elder began, ' I want
this explaining. What do you mean by shirk-
ing your work ? '
There was no reply. 'Arry strode to the
window and leaned against the side of it, in the
attitude of a Sunday loafer waiting for the dram-
shop to open.
' If this goes on,' Eichard pursued, ' you'll
find yourself in your old position again. I've
gone to a good deal of trouble to give you a
start, and it seems to me you ought to
show a better spirit. We'd better have an un-
derstanding ; do you mean to learn engineering,
or don't you ? '
' I don't see the use of it,' said tlje other,
' What do you mean ? I suppose you must
make your living somehow ? '
'Any laughed, and in such a way that
Eichard looked at him keenly, his brow gather-
ino; darkness.
' What are you laughing at ? '
' Why, at you. There's no more need for
me to work for a living than there is for you.
As if I didn't know that ! '
' Who's been putting that into your head ? '
No scruple prevented the lad from breaking
a promise he had made to Mr. Keene, thejour-
2i6 DEMOS
nalist, when tlie latter explained to him the
disposition of the deceased Eichard Mutimer's
estate ; it was ojily that lie preferred to get
himself credit for acuteness.
' Why, you don't think I was to be kept in
the dark about a thing like that ? It's just like
you to want to make a fellow sweat the flesh
off his bones when all tlie time there's a fortune
waiting for him. What have I got to work for,
I'd like to know? I don't just see the fun of it,
and you w^ouldn't neither, in my case. You've
took jolly good care you don't work your-
self, trust you ! I ain't a-going to work no
more, so there it is, plain and flat.'
Eichard was not prepared for this ; he could
not hit at once on a new^ course of procedure,
and probably it was the uncertainty revealed in
his countenance that brought 'Arry to a pitch
of boldness not altogether premeditated. The
lad came from the window, thrust his hands
more firmly into his pockets and stood prepared
to do battle for his freeman's riohts. It is not
every day that a youth of his stamp finds him-
self gloriously capable of renouncing work.
There was something like a glow of conscious
virtue on his face.
' You're not going to work any more, eh ? '
said his brother, half to himself. ' And who's
going to support you?' he asked, with rather
forced indi<]jnation.
DEMOS 217
' There's interest per cent, coming out of
my money.'
'Arry must not be credited with conscious
accuracy in his use of terms ; he merely jumbled
together two words which had stuck in his
memory.
' Oh ? And what are you going to do with
your time ? '
'That's my business. How do other men
spend their time ? '
The reply was obvious, but Eichard felt the
full seriousness of the situation and restrained
his scornful impulses.
' Sit down, will you ? ' he said quietly,
pointing to a chair.
His tone availed more than ancrer w^ould
have done.
' You tell me I take good care not to do
any work myself? There you're wrong. I'm
working hard every day.'
' Oh, we know what kind of work that is ! '
'No, I don't think you do. Perhaps it
would be as well if you were to see. I think
you'd better go to Wauley with me.'
' What for ? '
' I dare say I can give you a job for awhile.'
' 1 tell you I don't want a job.'
Pdchard's eye wandered rather vacantly.
From the first it had been a question with him
whetlier it would not be best to employ 'Arry
2i8 DEMOS
at Wanley, but on the whole the scheme
adopted seemed more fruitful. Had the works
been fully established it would have been a
different thing. Even now he could keep the
lad at work at Wanley, though not exactly in
the way he desired. But if it came to a choice
between a life of idleness in London and such
employment as could be found for him at the
works, 'Arry must clearly leave town at once.
In a few days the Manor would be furnished ; in
a few weeks Emma would be there to keep
house.
There was the difficulty of leaving his
mother and sister alone. It looked as if all
would have to quit London. Yet there would
be awkwardness in housing the whole family at
the Manor ; and besides —
What the ' besides ' implied Eichard did not
make formal even in his own thouohts. It
stood for a vague objection to having all his
relatives dwelling at Wanley. Alice he would
not mind ; it was not impossible to picture
Alice in conversation with Mrs. and Miss
Waltham ; indeed, he desired that for her. And
yet—
Eichard was at an awkward pass. Whither-
soever he looked he saw stumbling-blocks, the
more disagreeable in that they rather loomed
in a sort of mist than declared themselves for
what they were. He had not the courage to
DEMOS 219
approach and examine them one by one ; lie
had not the audacity to imagine leaps over
them ; yet somehow they had to be surmounted.
At this moment, whilst 'Arry w^as waiting for
the rejoinder to his last reply, Eichard found
himself wrestling again with the troubles which
had kept him wakeful for the last two nights.
He had believed them finally thrown and got
rid of. Behold, they were more stubborn than
ever.
He kept silence so long that his brother
spoke.
' What sort of a job is it .^ '
To his surprise, Eichard displayed sudden
anger.
' If you weren't such a young fool you'd see
what's best for you, and go on as I meant you
to ! What do you mean by saying you won't
Avork ? If you weren't such a thickhead you
might go to school and be taught how to behave
yourself, and how a man ought to live ; but it's
no use sending you to any such place. Can't
you understand that a man with money has to
find some sort of position in the world? I
suppose you'd hke to spend the rest of your life
in public-houses and music-halls P '
Eichard was well aware that to give way
to his temper was worse than useless, and
could only defeat every end ; but something
within him just now gnawed so intolerably that
2 20 DEMOS
there was nothing for it but an outbreak. The
difficuhies of life were hedging him in — diffi-
cukies he could not have conceived till they
became matter of practical experience. And
unfortunately a great many of them were not
of an honest kmd ; they would not bear ex-
posing. For a man of decision, Mutimer was
getting strangely remote from practical roads.
' I shall live as I like,' observed 'Arry,
thrusting out his legs and bending liis body
forward, a combination of movements which,
I know not why, especially suggests disso-
luteness.
Eichard gave up the contest for the present,
and went in silence from the room. As he
joined his mother and sister they suddenly
ceased talking.
' Don't cook anything for me,' he said, re-
maining near the door. ' I'm going out.'
' But you must have something to eat,' pro-
tested his mother. ' See ' — she rose hastily —
' I'll get a chop done at once.'
' I couldn't eat it if you did. I dare say
you've got some cold meat. Leave it out for
me ; I don't knov/ what time I shall get back.'
' You're very unkind, Dick,' here remarked
Alice, who wore a mutinous look. ' Why
couldn't you let us go to the theatre ? '
Her lorother vouchsafed no reply, but with-
drew from the room, and almost immediately
DEMOS 221
left the house. He walked lialf a mile witli
his eyes turned to the ground, then noticed a
hansom which was passing empty, and had
himself driven to Hoxton. He alighted near
the Britannia Theatre, and thence made his
way by foul streets to a public-house called
the ' Warwick Castle.' Only iwo customers
occupied the bar ; the landlord stood in his
shirt-sleeves, with arms crossed, musing. At
the sight of Mutimer he brightened up, and
extended his hand.
' How d'you do ; how^ d'you do, sir ? ' he
exclaimed. ' Glad to see you.'
The shake of the hands Vv^as a tribute to
old times, the ' sir' was a recoo-nition of chanored
circumstances. Mr. Nicholas Dabbs, the bro-
ther of Daniel, was not a man to lose anything
but failure to acknowledge social distinctions.
A short time ago Daniel had expostulated with
his brother on the use of ' sir ' to Mutimer,
eliciting the profound reply, ' D'you think
he'd have 'ad that glass of wliiskey if I'd called
him Dick ? '
' Dan home yet ? ' Mutimer inquired.
' l!^ot been in five minutes. Come round,
sir, will you ? I know he w^ants to see you.'
A portion of the counter was raised, and
Eichard passed into a parlour behind the bar.
' I'll call him,' said the landlord.
Daniel appeared immediately.
2 22 DEMOS
' I want a bit of private talk,' he said to his
brother. ' We'll have this door shut, if you
don't mind.'
' You may as well bring us a drop of some-
thing first, Nick,' put in Eichard. ' Give the
order, Dan.'
' Wouldn't have 'ad it but for the " sir," '
chuckled Nicholas to himself. ' Never used to
when he come here, unless I stood it.'
Daniel drew a chair to the table and stirred
his tumbler thoughtfully, his nose over the
steam.
' We're going to have trouble with 'Arry,'
said Eichard, who had seated himself on a sofa
in a dispirited way. ' Of course someone's been
telling him, and now tlie young fool says he's
going to throw up work. I suppose I shall
have to take him down yonder with me.'
' Better do so,' assented Daniel, without
much attention to the matter.
' What is it you want to talk about,
Dan?'
Mr. Dabbs had a few minutes ago performed
the customary evening cleansing of his hands
and face, but it had seemed unnecessary to
brush his Iiair, which consequently stood up-
right upon his forehead, a wiry rampart, just as
it had been thrust by the vigorously-applied
towel. This, combined with an unwonted
lugubriousness of visage, made Daniel's aspect
DEMOS 223
somewhat comical. He kept stirring very de-
liberately with his sugar-crusher.
' Why, it's this, Dick,' he began at length.
' And understand, to begin with, that I've got
no complaint to make of nobody ; it's only things
as are awk'ard. It's this way, my boy. When
you fust of all come and told me about what I
may call the great transformation scene, you
said, '' Now it ain't a-goin' to make no differ-
ence, Dan," you said. Now wait till I've
finished ; I ain't complainin' of nobody. Well,
and I tried to 'ope as it w^ouldn't make no
difference, though I 'ad my doubts. ''Come
an' see us all just as usu'l," you said. Well,
I tried to do so, and three or four wrecks I
come reg'lar, lookin' in of a Sunday night.
But somehow it wouldn't work ; something 'ad
got out of gear. So I stopped it off. Then
comes 'Arry a-askin' why I made myself scarce,
sayin' as th' old lady and the Princess missed
me. So I looked in again ; but it was wuss
than before, I saw I'd done better to stay away.
So I've done ever since. Y' understand me,
Dick ? '
Eichard was not entirely at his ease in
listening. He tried to smile, but failed to smile
naturally.
'I don't see what you found wrong,' he
returned, abruptly.
' Wliy, I'm a-tellin' you, my boy, I didn't
2 24 DEMOS
find nothing wrong except in myself, as yon
may say. What's the good o' beatin' about
the bush ? It's just this 'ere, Dick, my lad.
When I come to the Square, you know very
well who it was as I come to see. Well, it
stands to reason as I can't go to the new 'ouse
with the same thoughts as I did to the old.
Mind, I can't say as she'd ever a' listened to me ;
It's more than hkely she wouldn't. But now
that's all over, and the sooner I forget all about
it the better for me. And th' only way to
forget is to keep myself to myself, — see, Dick ? '
The listener drummed with his fingers on
the table, still endeavouring to smile.
' I've thought about all this, Dan,' he said
at length, with an air of extreme frankness.
' In fact, I meant to have a talk with you. Of
course I can't speak for my sister, and I don't
know that I can even speak to her about it, but
one thing I can say, and that is that she'll
never be encouraged by me to think herself
better than her old friends." He gave a laugh.
' Why, that 'ud be a good joke for a man in my
position ! What am I working for, if not to do
away with distinctions between capital and
labour ? You'll never have my advice to keep
away, and that you know. Why, who am I
going to marry myself? Do you suppose I
shall cry ofi* with Emma Vine just because I've
got more money than I used to have ? '
DEMOS 225
Daniers eye was upon Inm as he said these
words, an eye at once reflective and scrutinising.
Eichard felt it, and laughed yet more scornfully.
' I think we know you better than that,'
responded Dabbs. ' But it ain't quite the same
thing, you see. There's many a man high up as
married a poor girl. I don't know how it is ;
perhaps because women is softer than men, and
takes the polish easier. And then we know
very well how it looks when a man as has no
money goes after a girl as has a lot. No, no ;
it won't do, Dick.'
It was said with the voice of a man who
emphasises a negative in the hope of eliciting
a stronger argument on the other side. But
Eichard allowed the negative finality, in fact if
not in appearance.
'Well, it's for your own deciding, Dan. All
I have to say is that you don't stay away with
my approval. Understand that.'
He left Daniel idly stirring the dregs of his
liquor, and went oflf to pay another visit. This
was to the familiar house in Wilton Square.
There was a notice in the window that dress-
making and milhnery were carried on within.
Mrs. Clay (Emma's sister Kate) opened to
him. She was better dressed than in former
days, but still untidy. Emma was out making
purchases, but could not be many minutes. In
the kitchen the third sister, Jane, was busy
VOL. I. Q
226 DEMOS
with lier needle ; at Eichard's entrance she
rose from her chair with evident feebleness :
her illness of the spring had lasted long, and its
effects were grave. The poor girl — she closely
resembled Emma in gentleness of face, but the
lines of her countenance were weaker — now
suffered from pronounced heart disease, and the
complicated maladies which rheumatic fever so
frequently leaves behind it in women. She
brightened at sight of the visitor, and her eyes
continued to rest on his face with quiet satis-
faction.
One of Kate's children was playing on the
floor. The mother caught it up irritably, and
began lamenting the necessity of washing its
dirty little hands and face before packing it off
to bed. In a minute or two she went upstairs
to discharge these duties. Between her and
Eichard there was never much exchange of
words.
' How are you feeling, Jane ? ' Mutimer in-
quired, taking a seat opposite her.
' Better — oh, very much better ! The cough
hasn't been not near so troublesome these last
nights.'
' Mind you don't do too much work. You
ought to have put your sewing aside by now.'
' Oh, this is only a bit of my own. I'm sorry
to say there isn't very much of the other kind
to do yet.'
DEMOS 227
' Comes in slo\Yly, does it ? ' Eichard asked,
without appearance of much interest.
'It'll be better soon, I dare say. People
want time, you see, to get to know of us.'
Eichard's eyes wandered.
' Have you finished the port wine yet ^ ' he
asked, as if to fill a gap.
' What an idea ! Why, there's foiu: whole
bottles left, and one as I've only had three
glasses out of.'
' Emma was dreadfully disappointed when
you didn't come as usual,' she said presently.
Eichard nodded.
' Have you got into your house .^ ' she asked
timidly.
' It isn't quite ready yet ; but I've been
seeing about the furnishing.'
Jane dreamed upon the word. It was her
habit to escape from the suffering weakness of
her own life to joy in the lot which awaited her
sister.
' And Emma will have a room all to her-
self.? '
Jane had read of ladies' boudoirs ; it was
her triumph to have won a promise from
Eichard that Emma should have such a
chamber.
' How is it going to be furnished ? Do
tell me.'
q2
2 28 DEMOS
Eichard's imagination was not active in the
spheres of upholstery.
' Well, I can't yet say,' he replied, as if with
an effort to rouse himself. ' How would you
hke it to be ? '
Jane had ever before her mind a vague
vision of bright-hued drapery, of glistening
tables and chairs, of nobly patterned carpet,
setting which her heart deemed fit for that
priceless jewel, her dear sister. But to describe
it all in words was a task beyond her. And
the return of Emma herself saved her from the
necessity of trying.
Hearing her enter the house, Richard went
up to meet Emma, and they sat together in the
sitting-room. This room was just as it had
been in Mrs. Mutimer's day, save for a few
ornaments from the mantelpiece, which the old
lady could not be induced to leave behind her.
Here customers were to be received — when
they came ; a room upstairs was set apart for
work.
Emma wore a slightly anxious look ; it
showed even through her happiness. None
the less, the very perceptible change which the
last few months had wrought in her was in the
direction of cheerful activity ; her motions
were quicker, her speech had less of self-dis-
trust, she laughed more freely, displayed more
of youthful spontaneity in her whole bearing.
DEMOS 229
The joy which possessed her at Eichard's
coming was never touched with disappointment
at his sober modes of exhibiting affection.
The root of Emma's character was steadfast
faith. She did not allow herself to judge of
Eichard by tlie impulses of her own heart ;
those, she argued, were womanly ; a man must
be more independent in his strength. Of what
a man ought to be she had but one criterion,
Eichard's self. Her judgment on this point
had been formed five or six years ago ; she
felt that nothing now could ever shake it. All
of expressed love that he was pleased to give
her she stored in the shrine of her memory ;
many a light word forgotten by the speaker as
soon as it was uttered lived still as a part of
the girl's hourly hfe, but his reticences she
accepted with no less devout humility. What
need of repetitions? He had spoken to her
the decisive word, and it was a column estab-
lished for ever, a monument of that over which
time had no power. Women are too apt to
make their fondness a source of infinite fears ;
in Emma growth of love meant growth of con-
fidence.
' Does all go well at the works ? ' was her
first question. Eor she had made his interests
her own, and was following in ardent imagi-
nation the undertaking which stamped her
husband with nobility.
230
DEMOS
Eichard talked on the subject for some
moments ; it was easier to do so than to come
at once to the words he had in mind. But he
worked round by degrees, fighting the way
hard.
' The house is empty at last.'
' Is it ? And you have gone to live there ? '
'Not yet. I must get some furniture in
first.'
Emma kept silence ; the shadows of a smile
journeyed trembling from her eyes to her lips.
The question voiced itself from Eichard :
' When will you be ready to go thither ? '
'I'm afraid — I don't think I must leave
them just yet — for a little longer.'
He did not look at her. Emma was reading
his face ; the characters had become all at once
a little puzzHng ; her own fault, of course, but
the significance she sought was not readily
discoverable.
' Can't they manage without you ? ' he
asked. He believed Ms tone to express an-
noyance : in fact, it scarcely did so.
' I think it won't be very long before they
can,' Emma replied ; ' we have some plain sew-
ing to do for Mrs. Eobinson at the " Queen's
Head," and she's promised to recommend us.
I've just called there, and she really seems
anxious to help. If Jane was stronger I
shouldn't mind so much, but she mustn't work
DEMOS
231
hard just yet, and Kate lias a great deal to do
with the children. Besides, Kate can't get out
of the slop sewing, and of course that won't do
for this kind of work. She'll get the stitch
very soon.'
Eichard seemed to be musing.
' You see ' — she moved nearer to his side,
— ' it's only just the beginning. I'm so afraid
that they wouldn't be able to look about for
work if I left them now. Jane hasn't the
strength to go and see people ; and Kate — well,
you know, Eichard, she can't quite suit herself
to people's fancies. I'm sure I can do so much
in a few weeks ; just that'll make all the differ-
ence. The beginning's everything, isn't it ? '
Eichard's eye travelled over her face. He
was not without understanding of the noble-
ness which housed in that plain-clad, simple-
featured woman there before him. It had shot
a ray to the secret places of his heart before
now ; it breathed a passing summer along his
veins at this present.
'What need is there to bother.^' he
said, of purpose fixing his eye steadily on hers.
'Work '11 come in time, I dare say. Let them
look after their house.'
Perhaps Emma detected something not
wholly sincere in this suggestion. She let her
eyes fall, then raised them more quickly.
' Oh, but it's far better, Eichard ; and we
232 DEMOS
really have made a beginning. Jane, I'm sure,
Avouldn't hear of giving it up. It's wonderful
what spirits she has. And she'd be miserable
if she wasn't trying to work — I know so well
how it would be. Just a few weeks longer.
She really does get much better, and she says
it's all '' the business." It gives her something
to occupy her mind.'
' Well, it's just as you like,' said Eichard,
rather absently.
' But you do think it best, don't you, dear?'
she urged. ' It's good to finish things you
begin, isn't it? I should feel rather dissatisfied
with myself if I gave it up, and just when
everything's promising. I beheve it's what you
really would wish me to do.'
'All right. I'll get the house furnished.
But I can't give you much longer.'
He continued to talk in a mechanical way
for a quarter of an hour, principally of the
w^orks ; then said that he had promised to be
home for supper, and took a rather hasty leave.
He called good-night to the sisters from the top
of the kitchen stairs.
Jane's face w^as full of joyous questioning as
soon as her sister reappeared, but Emma disclosed
nothing till they two were alone in the bed-
room. To Emma it was the simplest thing in
the world to put a duty before pleasure ; she
had no hesitation in tellino- her sister how
DEMOS 233
matters stood. And the other accepted it as
pure love.
' I'm sure it '11 only be a week or two before
we can manage for ourselves,' Jane said. * Of
course, people are far readier to give you work
than they would be to me or Kate. But it '11 be
all right when we're once started.'
' I shall be very sorry to leave you, dear,'
murmured Emma. ' You'll have to be sure and
let me know if you're not feeling well, and I
shall come at once.'
' As if you could do that ! ' laughed the
otlier. ' Besides, it '11 be quite enough to keep
me well to know you're liappy.'
' I do hope Kate won't be trying.'
' Oh, I'm sure she won't. Why, it's quite a
long time since she had one of her worst turns.
It was only the hard work and the trouble as
worried her. And now that's all over. It's
you we have to thank for it all, Em.'
' You'll have to come and be with me some-
times, Jane. I know there'll always be some-
thing missing as long as you're out of my sight.
And you must see to it yourself that the sheets
is always aired ; Kate's often so careless about
that. You will promise me now, won't you .^ I
shall be dreadfully anxious every washing day,
I shall indeed. You know that the least thini^ '11
give you a chill.'
' Yes, I'll be careful,' said the other, half
234 DEMOS
sadly. She was lying in her bed, and Emma
sat on a chah' by the side. ' But you know it's
not much use, love. I don't suppose as I shall
live so very long. But I don't care, as soon as
I know you're happy.'
' Jane, I sliould never know happiness if I
hadn't my little sister to come and talk to.
Don't think like that, don't for my sake, Janey
dear ! '
They laid their cheeks together upon the
j^illows.
' He'll be a good husband,' Jane whispered.
' You know that, don't you, Emmy ? ' .
' No better in all this world ! Why do you
ask, so ? '
'No — no — I didn't mean anything. He
said you mustn't wait much longer, didn't
he?'
' Yes, he did. But he'd rather see me doing
what's right. I often feel myself such a poor
thing by him. I must try and show him that
I do my best to follow his example. I'm
ashamed almost, sometimes, to think I shall be
his wife. It ouo-ht to be some one better than
me.'
' Where would he find any one better, I'd
like to know? Let him come and ask me
about that ! There's no man good enough for
you, sister Emmy.'
• Eichard was talking with his sister Alice ;
DEMOS 235
tlie others had gone to bed, and the house was
quiet.
' I wasn't at all pleased to see that man
here to-night,' he said. 'You shouldn't have
been so ready to say yes when he asked you to
go to the theatre. It was like his impudence ! '
' Why, what ever's the harm, Dick .^ Be-
sides, we must have some friends, and — really
he looks a gentleman.'
' I'll tell you a secret,' returned her brother,
with a half-smile, half-sneer. ' You don't know
a gentleman yet, and you'll have to be very
careful till you do.'
' How am I to learn, then ? '
' Just wait. You've G;ot enous^h to do with
your music and your reading. Time enough
for getting acquainted Avith gentlemen.'
' Aren't you going to let anybody come and
see us, then ? '
' You have the old friends,' replied Eichard,
raising his chin.
' You're thinking of Mr. Dabbs, I suppose.
What did he want to see you for, Dick .^ '
Alice looked at him from the corner of her
eye.
' I think I'll tell you. He says he doesn't
intend to come here again. You've made him
feel uncomfortable.'
The girl laughed.
'I can't help how he feels, can I? At, all
236 DEMOS
events, Mr. Dabbs isn't a gentleman, is he,
now ? '
' He's an honest man, and that's saying a
good deal, let me tell you. I rather thought
you liked him.'
' Liked him ? Oh, in a way, of course. But
things are different.'
' How different ? '
Alice looked up, put her head on one side,
smiled her prettiest, and asked, —
' Is it true, what 'Arry says — about the
money P '
He had wanted to get at this, and was, on
the wliole, not sorry to hear it. Eichard was
studying tlie derivation of virtue from necessity.
' What if it is ? ' he asked.
' Well, it makes things more different even
than I thought, that's all.'
She sprang to her feet and danced across
the room, one hand bent over her head. It was
not an ungraceful picture. Her brother smiled.
'" Alice, you'd better be guided by me. I
know a little of the world, and I can help
you where you'd make mistakes. Just keep to
yourself for a little, my girl, and get on with
your piano and your books. You can't do
better, believe me. J^ever mind whether you've
anyone to see you or not ; there's time enough.
And I'll tell you another secret. Before you
can tell a gentleman when you see him, you'll
DEMOS 237
have to teach yourself to be a hid}^ Perhaps
that isn't quite so easy as you think.'
' How am I to learn, then ? '
' We'll find a way before long. Get on with
your playing and reading.'
Presently, as they were about to leave the
room, the Princess inquired :
' Dick, how soon are you going to be
married ? '
' ' I can't tell you,' was the answer. ' Emma
wants to put it off.'
238 DEMOS
CHAPTEE X.
The declaration of independence so nobly
delivered by his brother 'Arr}^ necessitated
Eichard's stay in town over the following day.
The matter was laid before a family conncil,
held after breakfast in the dining-room. Eichard
opened the discussion with some vehemence, and
appealed to his mother and Alice for support.
Alice responded heartily; Mrs. Mutimer was
slower in coming to utterance, but at length
expressed herself in no doubtful terms.
' If he don't go to his work,' she said sternly,
' it's either him or me '11 have to leave this house.
If he wants to disgrace us all and ruin himself,
he shan't do it under my eyes.'
Was there ever a harder case ? A high-
spirited British youth asserts his intention of
living a life of elegant leisure, and is forthwith
scouted as a disgrace to the family. 'Arry sat
under the gross injustice with an air of doggish
defiance.
' I thought you said I was to go to Wanley ? '
DEMOS 239
he exclaimed at length, angrily, glaring at his
brother.
Eichard avoided the look.
' You'll have to learn to behave yourself
first,' he replied. ' If you can't be trusted to do
your duty here, you're no good to me at Wanley.'
'Arry would give neither yes nor no. The
council broke up after formulating an ultimatum.
In the afternoon Eichard had another private
talk with the lad. This time he addressed him-
self solely to 'Arry's self-interest, explained to
him the opportunities he would lose if he neg-
lected to make himself a practical man. What
if there was money waiting for him ? The use
of money was to breed money, and nowadays
no man was rich who didn't constantly increase
his capital. As a great ironmaster, he would
hold a position impossible for him to attain in
any other way ; he would employ hundreds,
perhaps thousands, of men ; society would re-
cognise him. What could he expect to be if he
did nothing but loaf about the streets ?
This was going the right way to work.
Eichard found that he was making an impres-
sion, and gradually fell into a kinder tone, so
that in the end he brouglit 'Any to moderately
cheerful acquiescence.
' And don't let men like that Keene make a
fool of you,' the monitor concluded. ' Can't
you see that fellows like him '11 hang on and
240 DEMOS
make their profit out of you if you know no
better than to let them ? You just keep to
yourself, and look after your own future.'
A suggestion that cunning was required of
him flattered the youth to some purpose. He
had begun to reflect that after all it might be
more profitable to combine work and pleasure.
He agreed to pursue the course planned for him.
So Eichard returned to Wanley, carrying
with him a small satisfaction and many great
anxieties. Nor did he visit London again until
four weeks had gone by ; it was understood that
the pressure of responsibilities grew daily more
severe. New Wanley, as the industrial settle-
ment in the valley was to be named, was shap-
ing itself in accordance with the ideas of the
committee with which Mutimer took counsel,
and the undertaking was no small one.
In spite of Emma's cheerful anticipations,
' the business ' meanwhile made little progress.
A graver trouble was the state of Jane's health ;
the sufferer seemed wasting away. Emma de-
voted herself to her sister. Between her and
Mutimer there was no furtlier mention of mar-
riage. In Emma's mind a new term had fixed
itself — that of her sister's recovery ; but there
were dark moments when dread came to her
that not Jane's recovery, but something else,
would set her free. In the early autumn
Eichard persuaded her to take the invahd to
DEMOS 241
the sea-side, and to remain with her there for
three weeks. Mrs. Clay during that time hved
alone, and was very content to receive her future
brother-in-law's subsidy, without troubling about
the work which would not come in.
Autumn liad always been a peaceful and
bounteous season at Wanley ; then the fruit-
trees bent beneath their golden charge, and the
air seemed rich with sweet odours. But the
autumn of tliis year was unlike any that had
visited the valley hitherto. Blight had fallen
upon all produce ; the crop of apples and
plums w^as bare beyond precedent. The west
wdnd breathing up between the hill-sides only
brought smoke from newly built chimneys ;
the face of the fields was already losing its
purity, and taking on a dun hue. Where a
large orchard had flourished were two streets
of small liouses, glaring Avith new brick and
slate. The w^orks were extending by degrees,
and a little apart rose the walls of a large
building which would contain library, reading-
rooms, and lecture-hall, for the use of the in-
dustrial community. New Wanley was in a
fair way to claim for itself a place on the map.
The Manor w^as long since furnished, and
Eichard entertained visitors. He had provided
himself with a housekeeper, as well as the three
or four necessary servants, and kept a saddle-
horse as well as that which drew his trap to
VOL. I. R
242 DEMOS
and fro when he had occasion to go to Agworth
station. His estabhshment was still a modest
one; all things considered, it could not be
deemed inconsistent with his professions. Of
course, stories to the contrary got about ; among
his old comrades in London, thorough-going
Socialists like Messrs. Cowes and Cullen, who
perhaps thought themselves a little neglected
by the great light of the Union, there passed
occasionally nods and winks, which were meant
to imply much. There were rumours of ban-
queting which went on at Wanley ; the Manor
was spoken of by some who had not seen it as
little less than a palace — nay, it was declared
by one or two of the shrewder tongued that
a man-servant in livery opened the door, a
monstrous thing if true. Worse than this was
the talk which began to spread among the
Hoxton and Islington Unionists of a certain
young woman in a poor position to whom Mu-
timer had in former days engaged himself, and
whom he did not now find it convenient to
marry. A few staunch friends Eichard had,
who made it their business stoutly to contra-
dict the calumnies which came within their
hearing, Daniel Dabbs the first of them. But
even Daniel found himself before long jDrefer-
ring silence to speech on the subject of Emma
Vine. He grew uncomfortable about it, and
did not know what to think.
DEMOS 243
The first of Eichard's visitors at the Manor
were Mr. and Mrs. Westlake. They came down
from London one day, and stayed over till the
next. Other prominent members of the Union
followed, and before the end of tlie autumn
Eichard entertained some dozen of the rank
and file, all together, pa3ang their railway fares,
and housing them from Saturday to Monday.
These men, be it noted in passing, distinguished
themselves from that day onwards by unsparing
detraction whenever the name of Mutimer came
up in private talk, though, of course, they were
the loudest in applause when platform refer-
ence to their leader demanded it. Besides the
expressly invited, there w^as naturally no lack of
visitors who presented themselves voluntarily.
Among the earliest of these was Mr. Keene, the
journalist. He sent in his name one Sunday
morning requesting an interview on a matter of
business, and, on being admitted, produced a
copy of the Belwick Chronicle^ which contained
a highly eulogistic semi-biographic -notice of
Mutimer.
' I feel I ought to apologise to you for tliis
liberty,' said Keene, in his flowing way, 'and
that is why I have brought the paper myself.
You will observe that it is one of a series — not-
' able men of the day. I supply the Chronicle
with a London letter, and give them one of
these little sketches fortnightly. I knew your
R 2
244
DEMOS
modesty would stand in the way if I consulted
you in advance, so I can only beg pardon fost
delictum^ as we say.'
There stood the heading in bold type, ' Men
OF THE Day,' and beneath it ' XI. Mr. Pdchard
Mutimer.' Mr. Keene had likewise brought
in his pocket the placard of the newspaper,
whereon Eichard saw his name prominently
displayed. The journalist stayed for luncheon.
Alfred Waltham was frequently at the
Manor. Mutimer now seldom went up to
town for Sunday ; if necessity took him thither,
he chose some week-day. On Sunday h^e always
spent a longer or shorter time with the Walt-
hams, frequently having dinner at their house.
He hesitated at first to invite the ladies to the
Manor ; in his uncertainty on social usages he
feared lest there might be impropriety in a
bachelor giving such an invitation. He appealed
to Alfred, who naturally laughed the scruple to
scorn, and accordingly Mrs. and Miss Waltham
were begged to honour Mr. Mutimer with their
company. Mrs. Waltham reflected a little, but
accepted. Adela would much rather have re-
mained at home, but she had no choice.
By the end of September this invitation had
been repeated, and the Walthams had lunched
a second time at the Manor, no other guests
being present. On the afternoon of the follow-
ing day Mrs. Waltham and her daughter were
DEMOS 245
talking together in their sitting-room, and the
former led the conversation, as of late she
almost invariably did when alone with her
daughter, to their revolutionary friend.
'I can't help thinking, Adela, that in all
essentials I never knew a more gentlemanly
man than Mr. Mutimer. There must be some-
thing superior in his family ; no doubt we were
altogether mistaken in speaking of him as a
mechanic'
' But he has told us himself that he was a
mechanic,' replied Adela, in the impatient way
in which she was wont to speak on this subject.
'Oh, that is his modesty. And not only
modesty ; his views lead him to pride himself
on a poor orighi. He was an engineer, and we
know that engineers are in reality professional
men. Eemember old Mr. Mutimer ; he was a
perfect gentleman. I have no doubt the family
is really a very good one. Indeed, I am all but
sure that I remember the name in Hampshire ;
there was a Sir something Mutimer — I'm con-
vinced of it. No one really belonging to the
working class ever bore himself as Mr. Mutimer
does. Haven't you noticed the shape of his
hands, my dear ? '
' I've only noticed that they are very large,
and just what you would expect in a man who
had done much rough work.'
Mrs. Waltham laughed noisily.
246 DEMOS
' My dear child, liow can you be so per-
verse ? The shape of the fingers is perfect.
Do pray notice them next time.'
' I really cannot promise, mother, to give
special attention to Mr. Mutimer's hands.'
Mrs. Waltham glanced at the girl, who had
laid down a book she was trying to read, and,
with lowered eyes, seemed to be collecting her-
self for further utterance.
' Why are you so prejudiced, Adela? '
'I am not prejudiced at all. I have no
interest of any kind in Mr. Mutimer.'
The words were spoken hurriedly and with
a ring almost of hostility. At the same time
the girl's cheeks flushed. She felt herself hard
beset. A network was being woven about her
by hands she could not deem other than loving ;
it was time to exert herself that the meshes
might not be completed, and the necessity cost
her a feeling of shame.
' But your brother's friend, my dear. Surely
you ought not to say that you have no interest
in him at all.'
' I do say it, mother, and I wish to say it so
plainly that you cannot after this mistake me.
Alfred's friends are very far from being neces-
sarily my friends. Not only have I no interest
in Mr. Mutimer, I even a little dislike him.'
'I had no idea of that, Adela,' said her
mother, rather blankly.
DEMOS 247
' But it is the trutli, and I feel I ought to
have tried to make you understand that sooner.
I thought you would see that I had no pleasure
in speaking of him.'
' But how is it possible to dislike him ? I
confess that is very hard for me to understand.
I am sure his behaviour to you is perfect — so
entirely respectful, so gentlemanly.'
' No, mother, that is not quite the word to
use. You are mistaken ; Mr. Mutimer is not
a perfect gentleman.'
It was said with much decision, for to
Adela's mind this clenched her argument.
Granted the absence of certain qualities which
she held essential in a gentleman, there seemed
to her no reason for another word on the subject.
' Pray, when has he misbehaved himself? '
inquired her mother, with a touch of pique.
' I cannot go into details. Mr. Mutimer
has no doubt many excellent qualities ; no
doubt he is really an earnest and a well-mean-
ing man. But if I am asked to say more than
that, it must be the truth — as it seems to me.
Please, mother dear, don't ask me to talk about
him in future. And there is something else I
wish to say. I do hope you won't be offended
with me, but indeed I — I hope you will not
ask me to go to the Manor again. I feel I
ought not to go. It is painful ; I suffer when
I am there.'
248 DEMOS
' How strange you are to-day, Adela !
Eeally, I think you might allow me to decide
what is proper and what is not. My experience
is surely the best judge. You are worse than un-
kind, Adela ; it's rude to speak to me like that.'
' Dear mother,' said the girl, with infinite
gentleness, ' I am very, very sorry. How could
I be unkind or rude to you ? I didn't for a
moment mean that my judgment was better
than yours ; it is my feelings that I speak of.
You won't ask me to explain — to say more
than that ? You must understand me ? '
' Oh yes, my dear, I understand you too
w^ell/ was the stiff reply. ' Of course I am old-
fashioned, and I suppose old-fashioned people
are a little coarse ; their feelings are not quite
as fine as they might be. We will say no more
for the present, Adela. I will do my best not
to lead you into disagreeable situations through
my lack of delicacy.'
There were tears in Adela's eyes.
' Mother, now it is you who are unkind. I
am so sorry that I spoke. You won't take my
words as they were meant. Must I say that I
cannot let Mr. Mutimer misunderstand the way
in which I regard him ? He comes here really so
very often, and if we begin to go there too
People are talking about it, indeed they are ;
Letty has told me so. How can I help feehng
pained ? '
DEMOS 249
Mrs. Waltham drew out her handkerchief
and appeared mildly agitated. When Adela
bent and kissed her she sighed deeply, then
said in an undertone of gentle melancholy :
' I ask your pardon, my dear. I am afraid
there has been a little misunderstanding on
both sides. But we won't talk any more of it
— there, there ! '
By which tlie good lady of course meant that
she would renew the subject on the very earhest
opportunity, and that, on the whole, she was
not discouraged. Mothers are often unaware
of their daughters' strong points, but their weak-
nesses they may be trusted to understand pretty
well.
The little scene was just well over, and
Adela had taken a seat by the window, when
a gentleman who was approaching the front
door saw her and raised his hat. She went
very pale.
The next moment there was a knock at the
front door.
' Mother,' the girl whispered, as if she could
not speak louder, 'it is Mr. Eldon.'
' Mr. Eldon ? ' Mrs. Waltham drew herself
up with dignity, then started from her seat.
' The idea of his daring to come here ! '
She intercepted the servant wlio was going
to open the door.
' Jane, we are not at home ! '
250 DEMOS
The maid stood in astonishment. She was
not used to the polite fictions of society ; never
before had that welcome mortal, an afternoon
visitor, been refused at Mrs. Waltham's.
' What did you say, please, mum ? '
' You will say that we are not at home,
neither I nor Miss Waltham.'
Even if Hubert Eldon had not seen Adela
at the window he must have been dull not to
read the meaning of the servant's singular face
and tone. He walked away with a quiet
' Thank you.'
Mrs. Waltham cast a side glance at Adela
when she heard the outer door close. The girl
had reopened her book.
' I'm not sorry that he came. Was tliere
ever such astonishing impudence ? If that is
gentlemanly, then I must confess I Eeally
I am not at all sorry he came : it will give him
a lesson.'
'Mr. Eldon may have had some special
reason for calling,' Adela remarked disinte-
restedly.
' My dear, I have no business of any kind
with Mr. Eldon, and it is impossible that he can
have any with me.'
Adela very shortly went from the room.
That evening Eichard had for guest at din-
ner Mr. Willis Eodman ; so that gentleman
named himself on his cards, and so he liked to
DEMOS 251
be announced. Mr. Eoclman was invaluable as
surveyor of the works ; his experience appeared
boundless, and had been acquired in many
lands. He was now a Socialist of the purest
water, and already he enjoyed more of Muti-
mer's intimacy than anyone else. Eichard not
seldom envied the easy and, as it seemed to him,
polished manner of his subordinate, and won-
dered at it the more since Eodman declared
himself a proletarian by birth, and, in private,
was fond of referring to the hardships of his
early life. That there may be no needless
mystery about Mr. Eodman, I am under the
necessity of stating the fact that he was the son
of a prosperous railway contractor, that he was
born in Canada, and would have succeeded to
a fortune on his father's death, but for an un-
happy contretemps in the shape of a cheque,
whereof Mr. Eodman senior (the name was not
Eodman, but the true one is of no importance)
disclaimed the signature. From that day to
the present good and ill luck had alternated in
the young man's career. His fortunes in detail
do not concern us just now ; there will be
future occasion for returning to the subject.
' Young Eldon has been in Wanley to-day,'
Mr. Eodman remarked as he sat over his wine
after dinner.
' Has he ? ' said Eichard, with indifference.
' What's he been after ? '
252 DEMOS
'I saw him going up towards the Walthams'.'
Eichard exhibited more interest.
' Is he a particular friend of theirs ? ' he
asked. He had o'athered from Alfred Waltham
that there had been a certain intimacy between
the two famihes, but desired more detailed in-
formation than his disciple had offered.
' Well, he used to be,' replied Eodman, with
a significant smile. ' But I don't suppose Mrs.
W. gave him a very affectionate reception to-
day. His little doings have rather startled the
good people of Wanley, especially since he has
lost his standing. It wouldn't have mattered
much, I dare say, but for that.'
' But was there anything particular up
there?'
Mutimer had a careworn expression as he
asked, and he nodded his head, as if in the
direction of the village, with a certain weariness.
' I'm not quite sure. Some say there was,
and others deny it, as I gather from general
conversation. But I suppose it's at an end
now, in any case.'
' Mrs. Waltham would see to that, you
mean ? ' said Mutimer, with a short laugh.
' Probably.'
Eodman made his glass revolve, his fingers
on the stem.
' Take another cigar. I suppose they're not
too well off*, the Walthams ? '
DEMOS 253
' Mrs. Waltham has an annuity of two hun-
dred and fifty pounds, that's all. The gh^l —
Miss Waltham — has nothing.'
' How the deuce do you get to know so
much about people, Eodman? '
The other smiled modestly, and made a
silent gesture, as if to disclaim any special
abilities.
' So he called there to-day .^ I wonder
whether he stayed long ? '
' I will let you know to-morrow.'
On the morrow Eichard learnt that Hubert
Eldon had been refused admittance. The in-
formation gave him pleasure. Yet all through
the night he had been earnestly hoping that he
might hear something quite different, had tried
to see in Eldon's visit a possible salvation for
himself. For the struggle which occupied him
more and more had by this time declared its
issues plainly enough ; daily the temptation be-
came stronger, the resources of honour more
feeble. In the beginning he had only played
with dangerous thoughts ; to break faith with
Emma Vine had appeared an impossibiHty, and
a marriage such as liis fancy substituted, the
most improbable of things. But in men of
Eichard's stamp that which allures the fancy
will, if circumstances give but a little encourage-
ment, soon take hold upon the planning brain.
His acquaintance with the Walthams had ripened
254 DEMOS
to intimacy, and custom nourished liis self-
confidence ; moreover, he could not misunder-
stand the all but direct encouragement whicli
on one or two recent occasions he had received
from Mrs. Waltham. That lady had begun to
talk to him, when they w^ere alone together, in
almost a motherly way, confiding to him this or
that pecuharity in the characters of her children,
deploring her inability to give Adela the plea-
sures suitable to her age, then again pointing out
the advantage it w^as to a girl to have all her
thoughts centred in home.
' I can truly say,' remarked Mrs. Waltham
in the course of the latest such conversation,
' that Adela has never given me an hour's
serious uneasiness. The dear child has, I be-
lieve, no will apart from her desire to please
me. Her instincts are so beautifully submissive.'
To a man situated like Mutimer this tone
is fatal. In truth it seemed to make offer to
him of w^hat he supremely desired. JN'o such
encouragement had come from Adela herself,
but that meant nothing either way ; Eichard
had already perceived that maidenly reserve
was a far more complex matter in a girl of
g;entle breedino- than in those with whom he
had formerly associated ; for all he knew, in-
crease of distance in manner might represent
the very hope that he was seeking. That hope
he sought, in all save the hours when conscience
DEMOS 255
lorded over silence, witli a reality of desire such
as lie had never known. Perhaps it was not
Adela, and Adela alone, that inspired this
passion ; it was a new ideal of the feminine
addressing itself to his instincts. Adela had
the field to herself, and did indeed embody in
almost an ideal degree the fine essence of dis-
tinctly feminine qualities which appeal most
strongly to the masculine mind. Mutimer was
not capable of love in the highest sense ; he was
not, again, endowed with strong appetite ; but
his nature contained possibihties of refinement
which, in a situation like the present, constituted
motive force the same in its efiects as either
form of passion. He was suffering, too, from the
malaise peculiar to men who suddenly acquire
riches ; secret impulses drove him to gratifica-
tions which would not otherwise have troubled
his thoughts. Of late he had been yielding to
several such caprices. One morning the idea
possessed him that he must have a horse for
riding, and he could not rest till the horse was
purchased and in his stable. It occurred to
him once at dinner-time that there were sundry
delicacies which he knew by name but had
never tasted ; forthwith he gave orders that
these delicacies should be supphed to him, and
so there appeared upon his breakfast-table a
'pate de foie gras. Very similar in kind was
liis desire to possess Adela Waltham.
256 DEMOS
And the voice of his conscience lost potency,
though it troubled him more than ever, even
as a beggar will sometimes become rudely
clamorous when he sees that there is no real
hope of extracting an alms. Eichard was em-
barked on the practical study of moral philo-
sophy ; he learned more in these months of
the constitution of his inner being than all his
literature of 'free thought' had been able to
convey to liim. To break with Emma, to cast his
faith to the winds, to be branded henceforth in
the sight of his intimate friends as a mere traitor,
and an especially mean one to boot — that at the
first blush was of the things so impossible that
one does not trouble to study their bearings.
But the wall of habit once breached, the citadel
of conscience laid bare, what garrison was re-
vealed ? With something like astonishment,
Eichard came to recognise that the garrison was
of the most contemptible and tatterdemalion de-
scription. Fear of people's talk — absolutely
nothing else stood in his way.
Had he, then, no affection for Emma.^
Hardly a scrap. He had never even tried to
persuade himself that he was in love with her,
and the engagement had on his side been an
affair of cool reason. His mother had practi-
cally brought it about ; for years it had been a
pet project of hers, and her joy was great in
its realisation. Mrs. Vine and she had been
DEMOS 257
lifelong gossips ; she knew that to Emma had
descendecl the larger portion of her parent's
sterling qualities, and that Emma was the one
wife for such a man as Eichard. She talked
him into approval. In those days Eichard had
no dream of wedding above his class, and he
understood very well that Emma Vine was dis-
tinguished in many ways from the crowd of
working o'irls. There was no one else he
wished to marry. Emma would feel herself
honoured by his choice, and, what he had not
himself observed, his mother led him to see
that yet deeper feelings were concerned on the
girl's side. This flattered him — a form of
emotion to which he was ever susceptible — and
the match was speedily arranged.
He liad never repented. The more he
knew of Emma, the more confirmation his
favourable judgments received. He even knew
at times a stirring of the senses, which is the
farthest tliat many of his kind ever progress in
the direction of love. Of the nobler features
in Emma's character he of course remained ig-
norant ; they did not enter into his demands
upon woman, and he was unable to discern
them even when they were brought prominently
before him. She would keep his house admi-
rably, would never contradict him, would
mother his children to perfection, and even
would go so far as to take an intelligent in-
YOL. I. s
258 DEMOS
terest in the Propaganda. What more could a
man look for ?
So there was no strife between old love and
new; so far as it concerned himself, to put
Emma aside would not cost a pang. The garri-
son was absolutely mere tongue, mere gossip of
public-house bars, firesides, &c. — more serious,
«3f the Socialist lecture-rooms. And what of
the sirl's own feelino- ? Was there no sense of
compassion in him ? Very little. And in say-
ing so I mean anything but to convey that
Mutimer was conspicuously hard-hearted,. The
fatal defect in working people is abs.ence of
imagination, the power which may be solely a
gift of nature and irrespective of circumstances,
but which in most of us owes so much to intel-
lectual training. Half the brutal cruelties per-
petrated by uneducated men and women are
directly traceable to lack of the imaginative
spirit, which comes to mean lack of kindly
sympathy. Mutimer, we know, had got for
himself only the most profitless of educations,
and in addition nature had scanted him on the
emotional side. He could not enter into the
position of Emma deserted and hopeless. Want
of money was intelhgible to him, so was bitter
disappointment at the loss of a good position,
but the former he would not allow Emma to
suffer ; and the latter she would, in the nature
of things, soon get over. Her love for him he
I
DEMOS 259
judged by his own feeling, making allowance,
of course, for the weakness of women in affairs
such as this. He might admit that she would
' fret,' but the thouglit of her fretting did not
affect him as a reality. Emma had never been
demonstrative, had never sought to show him
all that was in her heart ; hence he rated her
devotion lightly.
The opinion of those who knew him ! What
of the opinion of Emma herself? Yes, that
went for much ; he knew shame at the thought,
perhaps keener shame than in anticipating the
judgment, say, of Daniel Dabbs. No one of
liis acquaintances thought of him so highly as
Emma did ; to see himself dethroned, the ob-
ject of her contempt, was a bitter pill to
swallow. In all that concerned his own dic:-
nity Eichard was keenly appreciative ; he felt
in advance every pricking of the blood that
was in store for him if he became guilty of this
treachery. Yes, from tliat point of view he
feared Emma Vine.
Considerations of larger scope did not come
within the purview of his intellect. It never
occurred to him, for instance, that in forfeiting
his honour in this instance he began a process
of undermining which would sooner or later
threaten the stability of the purposes on which
he most prided himself. A suggestion that
domestic perfidy was in the end incompatible
s 2
26o DEMOS
with public zeal would liave seemed to him
ridiculous, and for the simple reason that he
recognised no moral sanctions. He could not
reo-ard his nature as a whole; he had no under-
standing for the subtle network of communica-
tion between its various parts. ]^ay, he told
himself that the genuineness and value of his
life's work would be increased by a marriage
with Adela Waltham ; he and she would repre-
sent the union of classes — of the Avage-earning
with the bourgeois^ between which two lay the
real gist of the combat. He thought of this
frequently, and allowed the thought to .inspirit
him.
To the question of whether Adela would
ever find out what he had done, and, if so, with
what result, he gave scarcely a moment. Mar-
riao-es are not undone by subsequent discovery
of moral faults on either side.
This is a tabular exposition of the man's
consciousness. Logically, there should result
from it a self-possessed state of mind, bordering
on cynicism. But logic was not predominant
in Mu timer's constitution. So far from con-
templating treason with the calm intelhgence
which demands judgment on other grounds
than the common, he was in reahty possessed
by a spirit of perturbation. Such reason as he
could command bade him look up and view
with scorn the rncfired defenders of the fort ;
DEMOS 201
but whence came this hail of missiles which
kept him so sore? Clearly there was some
element of his nature which eluded grasp and
definition, a misty influence making itself felt
here and there. To none of the sources upon
which I have touched was it clearly traceable ;
in truth, it arose from them all. The man had
never in his life been guilty of offence against
his graver conscience ; he had the sensation of
being about to plunge from firm footing into
untried depths. His days \vere troubled ; his
appetite w^as not what it should have been ; he
could not take the old thorough interest in his
work. It w^as becoming clear to him that the
matter must be settled one w^ay or another with
brief delay.
One day at the end of September he re-
ceived a letter addressed by Alice. On opening
it he found, with much surprise, that the con-
tents were in his mother's writing. It was so
very rarely that Mrs. Mutimer took up that
dangerous instrument, the pen, that something
unusual must have led to her doing so at pre-
sent. And, indeed, the letter contained unex-
pected matter. There were numerous errors of
orthography, and the hand was not very legible ;
but Eicliard got at the sense quickly enougli.
' I write this,' began Mrs. Mutimer, 'because
it's a long time since you've been to see us, and
because I want to say something tliat's better
262 DEMOS
written tliaii spoken. I saw Emma last night,
and I'm feeling uncomfortable about her. She's
getting very low, and that's the truth. Not as
she says anything, nor shows it, but she's got a
deal on her hands, and more on her mind. You
haven't written to her for three weeks. You'll
be saying it's no business of mine, but I can't
stand by and see Emma putting up with things
as there isn't no reason. Jane is in a very bad
way, poor girl ; I can't think she'll live long.
Now, Dick, what I'm aiming at you'll see. I
can't understand why you don't get married and
done with it. Jane won't never be able to work
again, and that Kate '11 never keep up a-dress-
making. Why don't you marry Emma, and take
poor Jane to live with you, where she could be
well looked after? for she won't never part from
her sister. And she does so hope and pray to
see Emma married before she goes. You can't
surely be waiting for her death. Now, there's
a good lad of mine, come and marry your wife
at once, and don't make delays. That's all, but
I hope you'll think of it ; and so, from your
affectionate old mother, S. Mutimer.'
Eichard read the letter several times, and
sat at home through the morning in despond-
ency. It had got to the pass that he could not
marry Emma ; for all his sufferiDg he no longer
aave a glance in that direction. Not even if
Adela Waltham refused him ; to have a ' lady '
DEMOS 263
for his wife was now an essential in his plans for
the future, and lie knew that the desired posses-
sion was purchasable for coin of the realm. No
way of retreat any longer ; movement must be
forward, at whatever cost.
He let a day intervene, then replied to his
mother's letter. He represented himself as
worked to death and without a moment for his
private concerns ; it was out of the question for
him to marry for a few weeks yet. He would
write to Emma, and would send her all the
money she could possibly need to supply the
sick girl with comforts. She must keep up her
courage, and be content to vv^ait a short while
longer. He was quite sure she did not com-
plain ; it was only his mother's fancy that she
w^as in low spirits, except, of course, on Jane's
account.
Another fortnight went by. Skies were
lowering towards winter, and the sides of the
valley showed bare patches amid the rich-hued
death of leaves ; ere long a night of storm would
leave 'ruined choirs.' Eichard was in truth
w^orking hard. He had just opened a course of
lectures at a newly established Socialist branch
in Belwick. The extent of his daily correspond-
ence threatened to demand the services of a
secretary in addition to the help already given
by Eodman. Moreover, an event of importance
was within view^ ; the New Wanley Public Hall
264 DEMOS
was completed, and its formal opening must be
made an occasion of ceremony. In that cere-
mony Eichard would be the central figure. He
proposed to gather about him a representative
company ; not only would the Socialist leaders
attend as a matter of course, invitations should
also be sent to prominent men in the conven-
tional lines of politics. A speech from a certain
Eadical statesman, who could probably be in-
duced to attend, would command the attention
of the press. For the sake of preliminary
trumpetings in even so humble a journal as
the Belwich Chronicle^ Mutimer put himself in
communication with Mr. Keene. That gentle-
man was now a recognised visitor at the house
in Highbury ; there was frequent mention of him
in a close correspondence kept up between
Eichard and his sister at this time. The letters
which Alice received from Wanley were not
imparted to the other members of the family ;
she herself studied them attentively, and with
much apparent satisf^iction.
For advice on certain details of the ap-
proaching celebration Eichard had recourse to
Mrs. Waltham. He found her at home one
rainy morning. Adela, aware of his arrival,
retreated to her little room upstairs. Mrs.
Waltham had a slight cold ; it kept her close by
the fireside, and encouraged confidential talk.
' I have decided to invite about twenty people
DEMOS 265
to lunch,' Eicharcl said. ' Just the members of
the committee and a few others. It '11 be better
than mvinoj a dinner. Westlake's lecture will
be over by four o'clock, and that allows people
to get away in good time. The workmen's tea
will be at half-past five.'
' You must have refreshments of some kind
for casual comers,' counselled Mrs. Waltham.
' I've thought of that. Eodman suggests that
we shall get the " Wheatsheaf " people to have
joints and that kind of thing in the refreshment-
room at the Hall from half-past twelve to half-
past one. We could put up some notice to that
effect in Agworth station.'
' Certainly, and inside the railway carriages.'
Mutimer's private line, which ran from the
works to Agworth station, was to convey visitors
to Xew Wanley on this occasion.
' I think I shall have three or four ladies,'
Eichard pursued. 'Mrs. Westlake'll be sure to
come, and I think Mrs. Eddlestone — the wife
of the Trades Union man, you know. And I've
been rather calculating on you, Mrs. Waltham ;
do you think you could ? '
The lady's eyes were turned to tJie window,
watching the sad, steady rain.
' Eeally, you're making a downright Socialist
of me, Mr. Mu timer,' she replied, with a laugh
v/hich betrayed a touch of sore throat. ' I'm
half afraid to accept such an invitation. Shouldn't
266 DEMOS
I be there on false pretences, don't you
think?'
Eichard mused ; his legs were crossed, and
he swayed his foot up and down.
' Well, no, I can't see that. But I tell you
what would make it simpler : do you think Mr.
Wyvern would come if I asked him ? '
' Ah, now, that would be capital ! Oh, ask
Mr. Wyvern, by all means. Then, of course, I
should be delighted to accept.'
' But I haven't much hope that he'll come.
I rather think he regards me as his enemy. And,
you see, I never go to church.'
' What a pity that is, Mr. Mutimer ! Ah,
if I could only persuade you to think differently
about those things ! There really are so many
texts that read quite like Socialism ; I was
looking them over with Adela on Sunday.
Wliat a sad thing it is that you go so astray !
It distresses me more than you think. Indeed,
if I may tell you such a thing, I pray for you
nightly.'
Mutimer made a movement of discomfort,
but laughed off the subject.
' I'll go and see the vicar, at all events,' he
said. ' But must your coming depend on his ? '
Mrs. Waltham hesitated.
' It really would make things easier.'
' Might I, in that case, hope that Miss
Waltham would come ? '
DEMOS 267
Eichard seemed to exert himself to ask the
question. Mrs. Waltham sank her eyes, smiled
feebly, and in the end shook her head.
' On a public occasion, I'm really afraid '
' I'm sure she would like to know Mrs.
Westlake,' urged Eichard, without his usual
confidence. ' And if you and her brother '
' If it were not a Socialist gathering.'
Eichard uncrossed his legs and sat for a
moment looking into the fire. Then he turned
suddenly.
' Mrs. Waltham, may I ask her myself.^ '
She was visibly agitated. There was this
time no afiectation in the tremulous lips and the
troublous, unsteady eyes. Mrs. Waltham was
not by nature the scheming mother who is
indifferent to the upshot if she can once get her
daughter loyally bound to a man of monev.
Adela's happiness was a very real care to her ;
she would never have opposed an unobjection-
able union on wliicli she found her daughter's
heart bent, but circumstances had a second
time made offer of brilhant advantages, and she
had grown to deem it an ordinance of the higher
powers that Adela should marry possessions.
She flattered herself that her study of Mutimer's
character had been profound ; the necessity of
making sucli a study excused, she thought, any
little excess of familiarity in which she had
indulged, for it had long been clear to her that
268 DEMOS
Mutimer would some day make an offer. He
lacked polish, it was true, but really he was
more a gentleman than a great many whose
right to the name was never contested. And
then he had distinctly high aims ; such a man
could never be brutal in the privacy of his home.
There was every chance of his achieving some
kind of eminence ; already she had suggested
to him a Parliamentary career, and the idea had
not seemed altosrether distasteful. Adela herself
was as yet far from regarding Mutimer in the
light of a future husband ; it was perhaps true
that she even disliked him. But then a young
girl's likes and dislikes have, as a rule, small
bearing on her practical content in the married
state ; so, at least, Mrs. Waltham's experience
led her to believe. Only, it was clear that there
must be no precipitancy. Let the ground be
thoroughly prepa red .
' May I advise you, Mr. Mutimer ? ' she
said, in a lowered voice, bending forward. ' Let
me deliver the invitation. I think it would be
better, really. We shall see whether you can
persuade Mr. Wyvern to be present. I promise
you to — in fact, not to interpose any obstacle
if Adela thinks she can be present at the lunch.'
' Then I'll leave it so,' said Eichard, more
cheerfully. Mrs. Waltham could see that his
nerves were in a dancing state. Eeally, he had
much fine feelimr.
269
CHAPTEE XL
It being only midday, Pdcliard directed his
steps at once to the Vicarage, and had the good
fortune to find Mr. Wyvern within.
' Be seated, Mr. Mutimer ; I'm glad to see
you,' was the vicar's greeting.
Their mutual intercourse had as yet been
hmited to an exchange of courtesies in public,
and one or two casual meetings at the Walthams'
house. Pdchard had felt shy of the vicar, whom
he perceived to be a clergyman of other than
the weak-brained type, and the circumstances
of the case would not allow Mr. Wyvern to
make advances. The latter proceeded with
friendliness of tone, speaking of the progress of
New Wanley.
' That's what I've come to see you about,'
said Eichard, trying to put himself at ease by
mentally comparing his own worldly estate with
that of his interlocutor, yet failing as often as
he felt the scrutiny of the vicar's dark-gleaming
eye. ' We are going to open the Hall.' He
270 DEMOS
added details. ' I shall have a number of
friends who are interested in our undertaking
to lunch with me on that day. I wish to ask
if you will give us the pleasure of your
company.'
Mr. Wyvern reflected for a moment.
' Why, no, sir,' he replied at length, using
the Johnsonian phrase with grave courtesy.
' I'm afraid I cannot acknowledge your kindness
as I should wish to. Personally, I would accept
your hospitality with pleasure, but my position
here, as I understand it, forbids me to join you
on that particular occasion.'
' Then personally you are not hostile to me,
Mr. Wyvern ? '
' To you personally, by no means.'
' But you don't like the movement ? '
' In so far as it has the good of men in view
it interests me, and I respect its supporters.'
' But you think we go the wrong way to
work?'
' That is my opinion, Mr. Mtitimer.'
' What would you have us do .^ '
• To see faults is a much easier thing than
to orioinate a sound scheme. I am iiir from
prepared with any plan of social reconstruc-
tion.'
Nor could Mr. Wyvern be moved from the
negative attitude, though Mutimer pressed him.
' Well, I'm sorry you won't come,' Eichard
DEMOS
271
said as he rose to take liis leave. ' It didn't
strike me that you would feel out of place.'
' ]^or should I. But you will understand
that my opportunities of being useful in the
village depend on the existence of sympathetic
feeling in my parishioners. It is my duty to
avoid any behaviour which could be misinter-
preted.'
' Then you deliberately adapt yourself to
the prejudices of unintelligent people F '
' I do so, deliberately,' assented the vicar,
with one of his fleeting smiles.
Eichard went away feeling sorry that he
had courted this rejection. He would never
have thought of inviting a ' parson ' but for Mrs.
Waltham's suggestion. After all, it mattered
little whether Adela came to the luncheon or
not. He had desired her presence because he
wished her to see him as an entertainer of
guests such as the Westlakes, whom she would
perceive to be people of refinement ; it occurred
to him, too, that such an occasion might aid his
suit by exciting her ambition ; for he was any-
thing but confident of immediate success with
Adela, especially since recent conversations with
Mrs. Waltham. But in any case she would
attend the afternoon ceremony, when his glory
would be proclaimed.
Mrs. Waltham was anxiously meditative of
plans for bi^inging Adela to regard her Sociahst
272 DEMOS
wooer with more fiivourable eyes. She, too,
had hopes that Mutimer's fame in the mouths
of men might prove an attraction, yet she sus-
pected a strengtli of principle in Adela which
might well render all such hopes vain. And
she thought it only too likely, though obser-
vation gave her no actual assurance of this, that
the girl still thought of Hubert Eldon in a way
to render it doubly hard for any other man to
make an impression upon her. It was danger-
ous, she knew, to express her abhorrence of
Hubert too persistently; yet, on the other hand,
she was convinced that Adela had been so
deeply shocked by the revelations of Hubert's
wickedness that her moral nature would be in
arms against her lingering inclination. After
much mental wear and tear, she decided to
adopt the strong course of asking Alfred's assist-
ance. Alfred was sure to view the proposed
match with hearty approval, and, though he
might not have much influence directly, he
could in all probability secure a potent ally in
the person of Letty Tew. This was rather a
brilliant idea ; Mrs. Waltham waited impatiently
for her son's return from Bel wick on Saturday.
She broached the subject to him with much
delicacy.
' I am so convinced, Alfred, that it would
be for your sister's happiness. There really is
no harm whatever in aiding her inexperience ;
DEMOS 273
that is all that I wish to do. I'm sure you
understand me ? '
'I understand well enough,' returned the
young man ; ' but if you convince Adela against
her will youll do a clever thing. You've been
so remarkably successful in closing her mind
against all arguments of reason '
' Now, Alfred, do not begin and talk in that
way ! It has nothing whatever to do with the
matter. This is entirely a personal question.'
' Nothing of the kind. It's a question of
religious prejudice. She hates Mutimer be-
cause he doesn't go to church, there's the long
and short of it.'
' Adela very properly condemns his views,
but that's quite a different thing from hating
him.'
' Oh dear, no ; they're one and the same
thing. Look at the history of persecution.
She would like to see him — and me too, I dare
say — brought to the stake.'
' Well, well, of course if you won't talk sen-
sibly ! I had something to propose.'
' Let me hear it, then.'
' You yourself agree with me that there
would be nothing to repent in urging her.'
' On the contrary, I think she might con-
sider herself precious lucky. It's only that ' — •
he looked dubious for a moment — ' I'm not
quite sure whether she's the kind of girl to be
VOL. I. T
274 DEMOS
content with a husband she found she couldn't
convert. I can imagine her marrying a rake
on the hope of bringing him to regular church-
going, but then Mutimer doesn't happen to be
a blackguard, so he isn't very interesting to
her.'
' I know what you're thinking of, but I
don't think we need take that into account.
And, indeed, we can't afford to take anything
into account but her establishment in a respect-
able and happy home. Our choice, as you are
aware, is not a wide one. I am often deeply
anxious about the poor girl.'
' I dare say. Well, what was your proposal ? '
' Do you think Letty could help us ? '
' H'm, can't say. Might or might not.
She's as bad as Adela. Ten to one it'll be a
point of conscience with her to fight the project
tooth and nail'
' I don't think so. She has accepted you.'
' So she has, to my amazement. Women
are monstrously illogical. She must think of
my latter end with mixed feelings.'
' I do wish you were less flippant in dealing
with grave subjects, Alfred. I assure you I am
very much troubled. I feel that so much is at
stake, and yet the responsibility of doing any-
thing is so very great.'
' Shall I talk it over with Letty ? '
' If you feel able to. But Adela would be
DEMOS 275
very seriously ofTendecl if she guessed that you
had done so.'
' Then she mustn't guess, that's alL I'll see
what I can do to-night.'
In the home of the Tews there was some
difficulty in securing privacy. The house was
a small one, and the sacrifice of general con-
venience when Letty wanted a whole room for
herself and Alfred was considerable. To-night
it was managed, however ; the front parlour
was granted to the pair for one hour.
It could not be said that there was much
delicacy in Alfred's way of approaching the
subject he wished to speak of. This young
man had a scorn of periphrases. If a topic had
to be handled, why not be succinct in the hand-
ling ? Alfred was of opinion that much time
was lost by mortals in windy talk.
' Look here, Letty : what's your idea about
Adela marrying Mutimer ? '
The girl looked startled.
' She has not accepted him ? '
' Not yet. Don't you think it would be a
<?ood thino; if she did .^ '
' I really can't say,' Letty replied very
gravely, her head aside. ' I don't think any
one can judge but Adela herself. Eeally,
Alfred, I don't think we ought to interfere.'
' But suppose I ask you to try and get her
to see the affair sensibly ? '
T 2
2 76 DEMOS
' Sensibly P What a word to use ! '
' The right word, I think.'
' What a vexatious boy you are ! You
don't really think so at all. You only speak
so because you like to tease me.'
' Well, you certainly do look pretty when
you're defending the castles in the air. Give
me a kiss.'
' Indeed I shall not. Tell me seriously
what you mean. What does Mrs. Waltham
think about it ? '
' Give me a kiss, and I'll tell you. If not,
I'll go away and leave you to iind out every-
thing as best you can.'
' Oh, Alfred, you're a sad tyrant ! '
' Of course I am. But it's a benevolent des-
potism. Well, mother wants Adela to accept
him. In fact, she asked me if I didn't think
you'd help us. Of course I said you would.'
' Then you were very hasty. I'm not joking
now, Alfred. I think of Adela in a w^ay you
very likely can't understand. It w^ould be
shocking, oh ! shocking, to try and make her
marry him if she doesn't really wish to.'
' No fear ! We shan't manage that.'
' And surely wouldn't wish to ? '
' I don't know^ Girls often can't see wdiat't?
best for them. I say, you understand that all
this is in confidence ? '
' Of course I do. But it's a confidence I had
DEMOS 277
rather not have received. I shall be miserable,
I know that.'
' Then you're a little — goose.'
' You were going to call me something far
worse.'
' Give me credit, then, for correcting myself.
You'll have to help us, Lettycoco.'
The girl kept silence. Then for a time the
conversation became graver. It was inter-
rupted precisely at the end of the granted hour.
Letty w^ent to see her friend on Sunday
afternoon, and the two shut themselves up in
the dainty little chamber. Adela was in low
spirits ; with her a most unusual state. She sat
with her hands crossed on her lap, and the
sunny li,2;ht of her eyes Avas dimmed. When she
had tried for a while to talk of ordinary things,
Letty saw a tear glisten upon her cheek.
' What is the matter, love ? '
Adela was in sore need of telling her
troubles, and Letty was the only one to whom
she could do so. In such spirit-gentle words
as could express the perplexities of her mind
she told what a source of pain her mother's
conversation had been to her of late, and how
she dreaded what micfht still be to come.
' It is so dreadful to think, Letty, that
mother is encouraoino; him. She thinks it is
for my happiness ; she is offended if I try to
say what I suffer. Oh, I couldn't ! I couldn't!'
2 78 DEMOS
She put her pahiis before her face ; her
maidenhood shamed to speak of these things
even to her bosom friend.
' Can't you show him, darhng, that — that he
mustn't hope anything ? '
' How can I do so ? It is impossible to be
rude, and everything else it is so easy to mis-
understand.'
' But when he really speaks, then it will
come to an end.'
' I shall grieve mother so, Letty. I feel as
if the best of my life had gone by. Everything
seemed so smooth. Oh, why did he fall so,
Letty? and I thought he cared for me, dear.'
She whispered it, her face on her friend's
shoulder.
' Try to forget, darling ; try ! '
' Oh, as if I didn't try night and day ! I
know it is so wrong to give a thought. How
could he speak to me as he did that day when
I met him on the hill, and again when I went
just to save him an annoyance? He was al-
most the same as before, only I thought him a
little sad from his illness. He had no right
to talk to me in that way ! Oh, I feel wicked,
that I can't forget ; I hate myself for still — for
still '
Tliere was a word Letty could not hear, only
her listening heart divined it.
' Dear Adela ! pray for strength, and it will
DEMOS 279
be sure to come to you. How hard it is to
know myself so happy when you have so much
trouble ! '
' I could have borne it better but for this
new pain. I don't think I should ever have
shown it ; even you wouldn't have known all I
felt, Letty. I should have hoped for him — I
don't mean hoped on my own account, but that
he might know how wricked he had been. How
— how can a man do things so unworthy of him-
self, when it's so beautiful to be good and
faithful ? I think he did care a little for me
once, Letty.'
' Don't let us talk of him, pet.'
' You are right ; we mustn't. His name
ought never to pass my lips, only in my prayers.'
She grew calmer, and they sat hand in hand.
' Try to make your mother understand,'
advised Letty. ' Say that it is impossible you
should ever accept him.'
' She won't believe that, I'm sure she w^on't.
And to think that, even if I did it only to please
her, people would believe I had married him
because he is rich ! '
Letty spoke with more emphasis than
hitherto.
'But you cannot and must not do such a
thing to please any one, Adela ! It is wrong
even to think of it. Xothing, nothing can
justify that.'
28o DEMOS
How strong she was in tlie purity of her
own love, good httle Letty ! So they talked
together, and mingled their tears, and the room
was made a saci-ed place as by the presence of
sorrowing angels.
:8i
CHAPTER XII.
The New Wanley Lecture Hall had been pub-
licly dedicated to the service of the New
Wanley Commonwealth, and only in one
respect did the day's proceedings fall short of
Mutimer's expectations. He had hoped to
have all the Waltham family at his luncheon
party, but in the event Alfred alone felt himself
able to accept the invitation. Mutimer had
even nourished the hope that something might
happen before that day to allow of Adela's
appearing not merely in the character of a
guest, but, as it were, ex officio. By this time he
had resolutely forbidden his eyes to stray to the
right hand or the left, and kept them directed
with hungry, relentless steadiness straight
along the path of his desires. He had received
no second letter from his mother, nor had Alice
anything to report of danger-signals at home ;
from Emma herself came a letter regularly once
a week, a letter of perfect patience, chiefly con-
cerned with her sister's health. He had made
282 DEMOS
up his mind to declare notliing till the irretriev-
able step was taken, when reproaches only
could befall him ; to Alice as little as to any
one else had he breathed of his purposes. And
he could no lonsfer even take into account the
uncertainty of his success ; to doubt of that
would have been insufferable at the point which
he had reached in self-abandonment. Yet day
after day saw the postponement of the question
which would decide his fate. Between him
and Mrs. Waltham the lano-uas^e of allusion was
at length put aside ; he spoke plainly of his
wishes, and sought her encouragement, This
was not v/antino' but the mother beo^G;ed for
time. Let the day of the ceremony come
and go.
Eichard passed through it in a state of ex-
altation and anxiety which bordered on fever.
Mr. Westlake and his wife came down from
London by an early train, and he went over
New Wanley with them before luncheon. The
luncheon itself did not lack festive vivacity ;
Eichard, in surveying his guests from the head
of the board, had feelings not unlike those
wherein King Polycrates lulled himself of old ;
there wanted, in truth, one thing to complete
his self-complacence, but an extra glass or two
of wine enrubied his imagination, and he already
saw Adela's face smilinof to him from the table's
unoccupied end. What was such conquest in
DEMOS 283
comparison with that -wliich Fate had accorded
him ?
There was a satisfactory gathering to hear
Mr. Westlake's address ; Eichard did not fail to
note the presence of a few reporters, only it
seemed to him that their pencils might have
been more active. Here, too, v\"as Adela at
length ; every time his name was uttered, per-
force she heard ; every encomium bestowed
upon Inm by the various speakers was to him
like a new bud on the tree of hope. After all,
why should he feel this humility towards her ?
What man of prominence, of merit, at all like
his own would ever seek her hand ? The
semblance of chivalry which occasionally stirred
within him was, in fact, quite inconsistent with
his reasoned view of thino-s ; the Enoiish work-
ing class has, on the whole, as little of that
quality as any other people in an elementary
stage of civilisation. He Avas a- man, she a
woman. A lady, to be sure, but then
After Mutimer, Alfred Waltham had pro-
bably more genuine satisfaction in the ceremony
than any one else present. Mr. Westlake he
was not quite satisfied with ; there was a mild-
ness and restraint about the style of the address
which to Alfred's taste smacked of feebleness ;
he was for Cambyses' vein. Still it rejoiced
him to hear the noble truths of democracy
delivered as it were from the be ma. To a cer-
284 DEMOS
tain order of intellect the word addressed by
the living voice to an attentive assembly is
always vastly impressive ; when the word coin-
cides with private sentiment it excites enthu-
siasm. Alfred hated the aristocratic order of
things with a rabid hatred. In practice he
could be as coarsely overbearing with his social
inferiors as that scion of the nobility — existing
of course somewhere — wdio bears the bell for
feebleness of tlie pia. mater ; but that made
him none the less a sound Eadical. In thinking
of the upper classes he always thought of
Hubert Eldon, and that name was scarlet to
him. Never trust the thoroughness of the man
who is a revolutionist on abstract principles ;
personal feeling alone goes to the root of the
matter.
Many were the gentlemen to whom Alfred
had the happiness of being introduced in the
course of the day. Among others was Mr.
Keene the journalist. At the end of a lively
conversation Mr. Keene brought out a copy of
the Belwick Chronicle, that day's issue.
' You'll find a few things of mine here,' he
said. ' Put it in your pocket, and look at it
afterwards. By- the- by, there is a paragraph
marked ; I meant it for Mu timer. Never mind,
give it him when you've done with it.'
Alfred bestowed the paper in the breast pocket
of his great-coat, and did not happen to think of
DEMOS 285
it again till late tliat evening. His discovery
of it at length was not the only event of the
day which came just too late for the happi-
ness of one witli Avhose fortunes we are con-
cerned.
A little after dark, when the bell was rino--
ing which summoned Mutimer's workpeople
to the tea provided for them, Hubert Eldon
was approaching the village by the road from
Ag worth : he was on foot, and had chosen his
time in order to enter Wanley unnoticed. His
former visit, when he was refused at the
Walthams' door, had been paid at an impulse ;
he had come down from London by an early
train, and did not even call to see his mother
at her new house in Agworth. Nor did he
visit her on his way back ; he walked straight
to the railway station and took the first train
town wards. To-day he came in a more leisurely
way. It was certain news contained in a letter
from his mother which brought him, and with
her he spent ^ some hours before starting to
walk towards Wanley.
' I hear,' Mrs. Eldon had written, ' from
Wanley something which really surprises me.
They say that Adela Waltham is going to marry
Mr. Mutimer. The match is surely a very
strange one. I am only fearful that it is the mak-
ing of interested people, and that the poor girl
herself has not liad much voice in decidin'.^- her
2 86 DEMOS
own fate. Oh, this money ! Adela was worthy
of better things.'
Mrs. Eldon saw her son with surprise, the
more so that she divined the cause of his com-
ing. When they had talked for a while,
Hubert frankly admitted what it was that had
brought him.
' I must know,' he said, ' whether the news
from Wanley is true.'
' But can it concern you, Hubert ? ' his
mother asked gently.
He made no direct reply, but expressed
his intention of going over to Wanley.
' Whom shall you visit, dear ? '
' Mr. Wyvern.'
'The vicar? But you don't know him
personally.'
'Yes, I know him pretty welk We write
to each other occasionally.'
Mrs. Eldon always practised most reserve
when her surprise was greatest — an excellent
rule, by-the-by, for general observation. She
looked at her son with a lialf-smile of wonder,
but only said ' Indeed ? '
' I had made his acquaintance before his
coming to Wanley,' Hubert explained.
His mother just bent her head, acquiescent.
And with that their conversation on the subject
ended. But Hubert received a tender kiss on
his cheek when he set forth in the afternoon.
DEMOS 287
To one entering tlie valley after night-
fall tlie situation of the much -discussed New
Wanley could no longer be a source of doubt.
Two blast-furnaces sent up their flare and lit
luridly the devastated scene. Having glanced
in that direction Hubert did his best to keep his
eyes averted during the remainder of the walk.
He was surprised to see a short passenger train
rush by on the private line connecting the works
with Agworth station ; it was taking away
certain visitors who had lingered in New
Wanley after the lecture. Knowing nothing
of the circumstances, he supposed that general
traffic had been commenced. He avoided the
village street, and reached the Vicarage by a
path through fields.
He found the vicar at dinner, though it was
only half-past six. The welcomiC he received
was, in Mr. Wyvern's manner, almost silent ;
but when he had taken a place at the table he
saw satisfaction on his host's face. The meal
was very plain, but the vicar ate with extra-
ordinary appetite ; he was one of those men in
whom the demands of the stomach seem to be
in direct proportion to the activity of the brain.
A question Hubert put about the train led to a
brief account of what was going on. Mr.
Wyvern spoke on the subject with a gravity
which was not distinctly ironical, but suggested
criticism.
2 88 DEMOS
They repaired to the study. A volume of
Plato was open on the reading-table.
' Do yon remember Socrates' prayer in the
" Pheedrus "?' said the vicar, bending affection-
ately over the page. He read a few words of the
Greek, then gave a free rendering. ' Beloved
Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this
place, give me beauty in the inward soul ; and
may the outward and inward be at one. May
I esteem the wise alone wealthy, and may I
have such abundance of Avealth as none but the
temperate can carry.'
He paused a moment.
' Ah, when I came hither I hoped to fiiid Pan
undisturbed. Well, well, after all, Hephaestus
was one of the gods.'
' How I envy you your quiet mind ! ' said
Hubert.
' Quiet ? Nay, not always so. Just now I
am far from at peace. What brings you hither
to-day?'
The equivoque was obviated by Mr.
Wyvern's tone.
' I have heard stories about Adela Waltham.
Is there any truth in them ? '
' I fear so ; I fear so.'
'That she is really going to marry Mr.
Mutimer ? '
He tried to speak the name without dis-
courtesy, but his lips writhed after it.
DEMOS 289
' I fear she is going to marry him,' said the
vicar deliberately.
Hubert held his peace.
' It troubles me. It angers me,' said Mr.
Wyvern. ' I am angry with more than one.'
' Is there an engagement ? '
' I am unable to say. Tattle generally gets
ahead of fact.'
' It is monstrous ! ' burst from the young
man. ' They are taking advantage of her
innocence. She is a child. Why do they
educate girls like that? I sliould say, how-
can they leave them so uneducated? In an
ideal world it would be all very well, but see
what comes of it here ? She is walking with
her eyes open into horrors and curses, and
understands as little of what awaits her as a
lamb led to butchery. Do you stand by and
say nothing ? '
' It surprises me that you are so affected,'
remarked the vicar quietly.
' No doubt. I can't reason about it. But
I know that my life will be hideous if this goes
on to the end.'
' You are late.'
'Yes, I am late. I was in Wanley some
weeks ago ; I did not tell you of it. I called
at their house ; they were not at home to me.
Yet Adela was sitting at the window. What
did that mean ? Is her mother so contemptible
VOL. I. U
290 DEMOS
that my change of fortune leads her to treat
me in that way ? '
' But does no other reason occur to you ? *
asked Mr. Wyvern, with grave surprise.
' Other reason ! What other ? '
' You must remember that gossip is active.'
' You mean that they have heard about — ? '
' Somehow it had become the common talk
of the village very shortly after my arrival
here.'
Hubert dropped his eyes in bewilderment.
' Then they think me unfit to associate with
them ? She — Adela — will look upon me as a
vile creature ! But it wasn't so when I saw
her immediately after my illness. She talked
freely and with just the same friendliness as
before.'
' Probably she had heard nothing then.'
' And her mother only began to poison
her mind when it was advantageous to do
so.?'
Hubert laughed bitterly.
' Well, there is an end of it,' he pursued.
' Yes, I was forgetting all that. Oh, it is quite
intelhgible ; I don't blame them. By all means
let her be preserved from contagion ! Pooh !
I don't know my own mind. Old fancies that
I used to have somehow got hold of me again.
If I ever marry, it must be a woman of the
world, a woman with brain and heart to judge
DEMOS 291
human nature. It is gone, as if I had never
had such a thought. Poor child, to be sure ;
but that's all one can say.'
His tone was as far from petulance as could
be. Hubert's emotions were never feebly
coloured ; his nature ran into extremes, and
vehemence of scorn was in him the true voice
of injured tenderness. Of humility he knew
but httle, least of all where his affections were
concerned, but there was the ring of noble
metal in his self-assertion. He would never
consciously act or speak a falsehood, and was
intolerant of the lies, petty or great, which con-
ventionality and warped habits of thought en-
courage in those of weaker personality.
' Let us be just,' remarked Mr. Wyvern, his
voice sounding rather sepulchral after the out-
burst of youthful passion. 'Mrs. Waltham's
point of view is not inconceivable. I, as you
know, am not altogether a man of formulas, but
I am not sure that my behaviour would greatly
differ from hers in her position ; I mean as
regards yourself.'
' Yes, yes ; I admit the reasonableness of it,'
said Hubert more calmly, ' granted that you
have to deal with children. But Adela is too
old to have no will or understanding. It may
be she has both. After all she would scarcely
allow herself to be forced into a detestable
292 DEMOS
marriage. Very likely she takes her mother's
practical views.'
' There is such a thing as blank indifference
in a young girl who has suffered disappoint-
ment.'
' I could do nothing,' exclaimed Hubert.
' That she thinks of me at all, or has ever
seriously done so, is the merest supposition.
There was nothing binding between us. If
she is false to herself, experience and suffering
must teach her.'
The vicar mused.
' Then you go your way untroubled ? ' was
his next question.
' If I am strong enough to overcome foolish-
ness.'
' And if foolishness persists in asserting
itself?'
Hubert kept gloomy silence.
' Thus much I can say to you of my own
knowledge,' observed Mr. Wjrv^ern with weight.
' Miss Waltham is not one to speak words
lightly. You call her a child, and no doubt
her view of the world is childlike ; but she is
strong in her simplicity. A pledge from her
will, or I am much mistaken, bear no two
meanings. Her marriage with Mr. Mutimer
would be as little pleasing to me as to you, but
I cannot see that I have any claim to interpose,
DEMOS 293
or, indeed, power to do so. Is it not the same
with yourself? '
' No, not quite the same.'
' Then you have hope that you might still
affect her destiny ? '
Hubert did not answer.
' Do you measure the responsibility you
would incur ? I fear not, if you have spoken
sincerely. Your experience has not been of a
kind to aid you in understanding her, and, I
warn you, to make her subject to your caprices
would be little short of a crime, whether now
— heed me — or hereafter.'
' Perhaps it is too late,' murmured Hubert.
' That may well be, in more senses than one.'
' Can you not discover whether she is really
engaged ? '
'If that were the case, I think I should
have heard of it.'
' If I were allowed to see her ! So much
at least should be granted me. I should not
poison the air she breathes.'
' Do you return to Agworth to-night ? ' Mr.
Wyvern inquired.
' Yes, I shall walk back.'
' Can you come to me again to-morrow
evening ? '
It was agreed that Hubert should do so.
Mr. Wyvern gave no definite promise of aid,
294 DEMOS
but the youDg man felt that he would do some-
thing.
' The night is fine,' said the vicar ; ' I will
walk half a mile with you.'
They left the Vicarage, and ten yards from
the door turned into the path which would
enable them to avoid the village street. JSTot
two minutes after their quitting the main
road the spot was passed by Adela herself,
who was walking towards Mr. Wyvern's
dwelling. On her inquiring for the vicar, she
learnt from the servant that he had just left
home. She hesitated, and seemed about to
ask further questions or leave a message, but
at length turned away from the door and re-
traced her steps, slowly and with bent head.
She knew not whether to feel glad or sorry
that the interview she had come to seek could
not immediately take place. This day had
been a hard one for Adela. In the morning
her mother had spoken to her without disguise
or affectation, and had told her of Mutimer's
indirect proposal. Mrs. Waltham went on to
assure her that there was no hurry, that
Mutimer had consented to refrain from visits
for a short time in order that she might take
counsel with herself, and that — the mother's
voice trembled on the words — absolute freedom
was of course left her to accept or refuse. But
Mrs. Waltham could not pause there, though
DEMOS 295
she tried to. She went on to speak of the
day's proceedings.
'Think what we may, my dear, of Mr.
Mutimer's opinions, no one can deny that he
is making a most unselfish use of his wealth.
We shall have an opportunity to-day of hearing
how it is regarded by those who — who under-
stand such questions.'
Adela implored to be allowed to remain at
home instead of attending the lecture, but on
this point Mi's. Waltham was inflexible. The
girl could not offer resolute opposition in a
matter which only involved an hour or two's
endurance. She sat in pale silence. Then her
mother broke into tears, bewailed herself as a
luckless being, entreated her daughter's pardon,
but in the end was perfectly ready to accept
Adela's self-sacrifice.
On her return from New Wanley, Adela
sat alone till tea-time, and after that meal again
went to her room. She was not one of those
girls to whom tears come as a matter of course
on any occasion of annoyance or of grief; her
bright eyes had seldom been dimmed since
childhood, for the lightsomeness of her character
threw off trifling troubles almost as soon as
they were felt, and of graver aflilictions she had
hitherto known none since her father's death.
But since the shock she received on that day
when her mother revealed Hubert Eldon's
296 DEMOS
unwortliiness, her emotional life had suffered a
slow change. Evil, previously known but as
a dark mystery shadowing far-off regions, had
become the constant preoccupation of her
thoughts. Drawing analogies from the story of
her faith, she imaged Hubert as the angel wdio
fell from supreme purity to a terrible lordship
of perdition. Of his sins she had the dimmest
conception ; she was told that they were sins
of impurity, and her understanding of such
could scarcely have been expressed save in the
general language of her prayers. Guarded
jealously at every moment of her life, the
world had made no blur on the fair tablet of
her mind ; her Eden had suffered no invasion.
She could only repeat to herself that her heart
had gone dreadfully astray in its fondness, and
that, whatsoever it cost her, the old hopes, the
strength of which was only now proved, must
be utterly uprooted. And knowing that, she
wept.
Sin was too surely sorrow, though it neared
her only in imagination. In a few weeks she
seemed to have almost outgrown girlhood;
her steps were measured, her smile was seldom
and lacked mirth. The revelation would have
done so much ; the added and growing trouble
of Mutimer's attentions threatened to sink her
in melancholy. She would not allow it to be
seen more than she could help ; cheerful activity
DEMOS 297
in the life of home was one of her moral duties,
and she strove hard to sustain it. It was a
relief to find herself alone each night, alone
with her sickness of heart.
The repugnance aroused in her by the
thought of becoming Mutimer's wife was rather
instinctive than reasoned. From one point of
view, indeed, she deem^ed it wrong, since it
might be entirely the fruit of the love she was
forbidden to cherish. Strivins^ to read her
conscience, which for years had been with her a
daily task and was now become the anguish of
every hour, she found it hard to estabhsh vahd
reasons for steadfastly refusing a man who was
her mother's choice. She read over the marriage
service frequently. There stood the promise
— to love, to honour, and to obey. Honour
and obedience she might render him, but what
of love ? The question arose, what did love
mean ? Could there be such a thing as love
of an unworthy object .^ Was she not led astray
by the spirit of perverseness which was her
heritage ?
Adela could not bring herself to believe that
' to love ' in the sense of the marriage service
and to ' be in love ' as her heart understood it
were one and the same thing. The Puritanism
of her training led her to distrust profoundly
those impulses of mere nature. And the cir-
cumstances of her own unhappy affection tended
298 DEMOS
to confirm her in this way of thinking. Letty
Tew certainly thought otherwise, but was not
Letty 's own heart too exclusively occupied by
worldly considerations ?
Yet it said ' love.' Perchance that w^as
something which would come after marriage ;
the promise, observe, concerned the future.
But she was not merely indifferent ; she shrank
from Mutimer.
She returned home from the lecture to-day
full of dread — dread more active than she had
yet known. And it drove her to a step she
had timidly contemplated for more than a week.
She stole from the house, bent on seeinor Mr.
Wyvern. She could not confess to him, but
she could speak of the conflict between her
mother's will and her own, and beg his advice ;
perhaps, if he appeared favourable, ask him
to intercede with her mother. She had liked
Mr. Wyvern from the first meeting with him,
and a sense of trust had been nourished by each
succeeding conversation. In her agitation she
thought it would not be hard to tell him so
much of the circumstances as w^ould enable him
to judge and counsel.
Yet it was with relief, on the whole, that she
turned homewards with her object unattained.
It would be much better to wait and test herself
yet further. Why should she not speak with
DEMOS 299
her mother about that vow she was asked to
make?
She did not seek soHtude again, but joined
her mother and Alfred in the sitting-room.
Mrs. Waltham made no inquiry about the short
absence. Alfred had only just called to mind
the newspaper which Mr. Keene had given him,
and was unfolding it for perusal. His eye
caught a marked paragraph, one of a number
under the heading ' Gossip from Town.' As
he read it he uttered a ' Hullo ! ' of surprise.
' Well, here's the latest,' he continued, look-
ing at his companions with an amused eye.
' Something about that fellow Eldon in a
Belwick newspaper. What do you think .^ '
Adela kept still and mute.
' Whatever it is, it cannot interest us, Alfred,'
said Mrs. Waltham, with dignity. ' We had
rather not hear it.'
' Well, you shall read it for yourself,' replied
Alfred on a second thought. ' I think 3^ou'd
like to know.'
His mother took the paper under protest,
and glanced down at the paragraph carelessly.
But speedily her attention became closer.
' An item of intelhgence,' wrote the London
gossip er, ' which I dare say will interest readers
in certain parts of — shire. A lady of French
extraction who made a name for herself at a
300 DEMOS
leading metropolitan theatre last winter, and
who really promises great things in the Thespian
art, is back among us from a sojourn on the
Continent. She is understood to have spent
much labour in the study of a new part, which
she is about to introduce to us of the modern
Babylon. But Albion, it is whispered, possesses
other attractions for her besides appreciative
audiences. In brief, though she will of course
appear under the old name, she will in reality
have changed it for one of another nationality
before presenting herself in the radiance of the
foothghts. The happy man is Mr. Hubert
Eldon, late of Wanley Manor. We fehcitate
Mr. Eldon.'
Mrs. Waltham's hands trembled as she
doubled the sheet : there was a gleam of
pleasure on her face.
' Give me the paper when you have done
with it,' she said.
Alfred laughed, and whistled a tune as he
continued the perusal of Mr. Keene's political
and social intelhgence, on the whole as trust-
worthy as the style in which it w^as written was
terse and elegant. Adela, finding she could
feign indifierence no longer, went from the
room.
' Wliere did you get this .^ ' Mrs. Waltham
asked with eagerness as soon as the girl was
gone.
DEMOS 301
'From the writer himself,' Alfred replied,
visibly proud of his intimacy with a man of
letters. 'Fellow called Keene. Had a long
talk with him.'
' About this ? '
' Oh, no. I've only just come across it.
But he said he'd marked something for Mutimer.
I'm to pass the paper on to him.'
' I suppose this is the same woman ? '
'No doubt.'
'You think it's true?'
'True? Why, of course it is. A newspaper
with a reputation to support can't go printing
people's names at haphazard. Keene's very
thick with all the London actors. He told me
some first-class stories about '
' Never mind,' interposed his mother. ' Well,
to think it should come to this ! I'm sure I feel
for poor Mrs. Eldon. Eeally, there is no end
to her misfortunes.'
' Just how such families always end up,'
observed Alfred complacently. 'No doubt
he'll drink himself to death, or something of
that kind, and then we shall have the pleasure
of seeing a new tablet in the church, inscribed
with manifold virtues ; or even a stained-glass
window : the last of the Eldons deserves some-
thing noteworthy.'
' I think it's hardly a subject for joking,
Alfred. It is very, very sad. And to think
302
DEMOS
what a fine handsome boy he used to be ! But
he was always dreadfully self-willed.'
' He was always an impertinent puppy !
How he'll play the swell on his wife's earnings I
Oh, our glorious aristocracy ! '
Mrs. Waltham went early to her daughter's
room. Adela w^as sitting with her Bible before
lier — had sat so since coming upstairs, yet had
not read three consecutive verses. Her face
showed no effect of tears, for the heat of a
consuming suspense had dried the fountains of
woe.
' I don't like to occupy your mind with such
things, my dear,' began her mother, ' but per-
haps as a warning I ought to show you the
news AKred spoke of. It pleases Providence
that there should be evil in the world, and for
our own safety we must sometimes look it in
the face, especially we poor women, Adela.
Will you read that ? '
Adela read. She could not criticise the
style, but it affected her as something unclean ;
Hubert's very name suffered degradation when
used in such a way. Prepared for worse things
than that which she saw, no shock of feelings
was manifest in her. She returned the paper
without speaking.
' I wanted you to see that my behaviour to
Mr. Eldon was not unjustified,' said her mother.
' You don't blame me any longer, dear ? '
DEMOS 303
' I Lave never blamed you, mother.'
' It is a sad, sad end to what might have
been a life of usefulness and honour. I have
thought so often of the parable of the talents ;
only I fear this case is worse. His poor mother !
I wonder if I could write to her ! Yet I hardly
know how to.'
' Is this a — a wicked woman, mother ? '
Adela asked falteringly.
Mrs. Waltham shook her head and sighed.
'My love, don't you see that she is an
actress ? '
' But if all actresses are wicked, how is it
that really good people go to the theatre ? '
' I am afraid they oughtn't to. The best of
us are tempted into thoughtless pleasure. But
now I don't want you to brood over things
which it is a sad necessity to have to glance
at. Eead your chapter, darling, and get to
bed.'
To bed — but not to sleep. The child's ima-
gination was aflame. This scarlet woman, this
meteor from hell flashing before the delighted
eyes of men, she, then, had bound Hubert for
ever in her toils ; no release for him now, no ran-
som to eternity. No instant's doubt of the news
came to Adela ; in her eyes imprimatur was
the guarantee of truth. She strove to picture
the face which had drawn Hubert to his doom.
It must be lovely beyond compare. For the
304 DEMOS
first time in lier life she knew the agonies of
jealousy.
She could not shed tears, but in her anguish
she fell upon prayer, spoke the words above
her breath that they might silence that terrible
voice within. Poor lost lamb, crying in the
darkness, sending forth such piteous utterance
as might create a spirit of love to hear and
rescue.
Eescue — none. When the fire wasted itself,
she tried to find solace in the thought that one
source of misery w^as stopped. Hubert was
married, or would be very soon, and if she had
sinned in loving him till now, such sin would
henceforth be multiplied incalculably ; she
durst not, as she valued her soul, so much as
let his name enter her thoughts. And to guard
against it, was there not a means ofiered her ?
The doubt as to what love meant was well
nigh solved ; or at all events she held it proved
that the ' love ' of the marriage service was
something she had never yet felt, something
which would follow upon marriage itself.
Earthly love had surely led Hubert Eldon to
ruin ; oh, not that could be demanded of her !
What reason had she now to ofier against her
mother's desire ? Letty's arguments were vain ;
they were but as the undisciplined motions of
her own heart. Marriage with a worthy man
must often have been salvation to a rudderless
DEMOS 305
life ; for was it not the ceremony whicli, after
all, constituted the exclusive sanction ?
Mutimer, it was true, fell sadly short of her
ideal of goodness. He was an unbeliever.
But might not this very circumstance involve
a duty ? As his wife, could she not plead with
him and bring him to the truth ? Would not
that be loving him, to make his spiritual good
the end of her existence ? It was as though
a great hght shot athwart her darkness. She
raised herself in bed, and, as if with her very
hands, clung to the inspiration which had been
granted her. The light was not abiding, but
something of radiance lingered, and that must
stead her.
Her brother returned to Belwick next
morning after an early breakfast. He was in
his wonted high spirits, and talked with much
satisfaction of the acquaintances he had made
on the previous day, while Adela waited upon
him. Mrs. Waltham only appeared as he was
setting off.
Adela sat almost in silence whilst her
mother breakfasted.
' You don't look well, dear ? ' said the latter,
coming to the little room upstairs soon after
the meal.
' Yes, I am well, mother. But I want to
speak to you.'
Mrs. Waltham seated herself in expectation.
VOL. I. X
3o6 DEMOS
' Will you tell me why you so mucli wish
me to marry Mr. Mutimer ? '
Adela's tone was quite other than she had
hitherto used in conversations of this kind.
It was submissive, patiently questioning.
' You mustn't misunderstand me,' replied
the mother with some nervousness. ' The
wish, dear, must of course be yours as well.
You know that I — that I really have left you
to consult your own '
The sentence was unfinished.
' But you have tried to persuade me, mother
dear,' pursued the gentle voice. ' You would
not do so if you did not think it for my good.'
Something shot painfully through Mrs.
Waltham's heart.
' I am sure I have thought so, Adela ; really
I have thought so. I know there are objec-
tions, but no marriage is in every way perfect
I feel so sure of his character — I mean of his
character in a worldly sense. And you might
do so much to — to show him the true way,
might you not, darling ? I'm sure his heart is
good.'
Mrs. Waltham also was speaking with less
confidence than on former occasions. She
cast side glances at her daughter's colourless
face.
' Mother, may I marry without feeling that
— that I love him ? '
DEMOS 307
The face was flushed now for a moment.
Adela had never spoken that word to anyone ;
even to Letty she had scarcely murmured it.
The effect upon her of hearing it from her own
lips was mysterious, awful ; the sound did not
die with her voice, but trembled in subtle
harmonies along the chords of her being.
Her mother took the shaken form and drew
it to her bosom.
' If he is your husband, darling, you will
find that love grows. It is always so. Have
no fear. On his side there is not only love :
he respects you deeply ; he has told me so.'
' And you encourage me to accept him,
mother ? It is your desire ? I am your child,
and you can wish nothing that is not for my
good. Guide me, mother. It is so hard to
judge for myself. You shall decide for me,
indeed you shall.'
The mother's heart was wrung. For a
moment she strove to speak the very truth,
to utter a Avord about that love which Adela
was resolutely excluding. But the temptation
to accept this unhoped surrender proved too
strong. She sobbed her answer.
' Yes, I do wish it, Adela. You will find
that I — that I was not wrong.'
' Then if he asks me, I will marry him.'
As those words were spoken Mutimer
issued from the Manor gates, uncertain whether
X 2
3o8 DEMOS
to go his usual way down to the works or to
pay a visit to Mrs. Waltham. The latter
purpose prevailed.
The evening before, Mr. Willis Kodman
had called at the Manor shortly after dinner.
He found Mutimer smoking, with coffee at his
side, and was speedily making himself comfort-
able in the same way. Then he drew a news-
paper from his pocket.
'Have you seen the Belwick Chronicle
of to-day ? ' he inquired.
' Why the deuce should I read such a
paper?' exclaimed Eichard with good-humoured
surprise. He was in excellent spirits to-night,
the excitement of the day having swept his
mind clear of anxieties.
' There's something in it, though, that you
ought to see.'
He pointed out the paragraph relating to
Eldon.
' Keene's writing, eh ? ' said Mutimer
thoughtfully.
' Yes, he gave me the paper.'
Eichard rekindled his cigar with delibera-
tion, and stood for a few moments with one
foot on the fender.
' Who is the woman ? ' he then asked.
' I don't know her name. Of course it's
the same story continued.'
* And concluded.'
DEMOS 309
' Well, I don't know about that,' said the
other, smiling and shaking his head.
' This may or may not be true, I suppose,'
was Eichard's next remark.
' Oh, I suppose the man hears all that
kind of thing. I don't see any reason to
doubt it.'
' May I keep the paper .^ '
' Oh, yes. Keene told me, by-the-by, that
he gave a copy to young Waltham.'
Mr. Eodman spoke whilst rolling the cigar
in his mouth. Mutimer allowed the subject to
lapse.
There was no impossibility, no improbability
even, in the statement made by the newspaper
correspondent ; yet, as Eichard thought it over
in the night, he could not but regard it as
singular that Mr. Keene should be the man to
make public such a piece of information so very
opportunely. He was far from having admitted
the man to his confidence, but between Keene
and Eodman, as he was aware, an intimacy had
sprung up. It might be that one or the other
had thought it worth while to serve him ; why
should Keene be particular to put a copy of
the paper into Alfred Waltham's hands ? Well,
he personally knew nothing of the affair. If
the news effected anything, so much the better.
He hoped it might be trustworthy.
Among his correspondence in the morning
310 DEMOS
was a letter from Emma Vine. He opened
it last ; anyone observing him would have
seen with what reluctance he began to read
it.
' My dear Eichard,' it ran, ' I write to thank
you for the money. I would very much rather
have had a letter from you, however short a
one. It seems long since you wrote a real
letter, and I can't think how long since I have
seen you. But I know how full of business you
are, dear, and I'm sure you would never come
to London mthout telling me, because if you
hadn't time to come here, I should be only too
glad to go to Highbury, if only for one word.
We have got some mourning dresses to make
for the servants of a lady in Islington, so that is
good news. But poor Jane is very bad indeed.
She suffers a great deal of pain, and most of all
at night, so that she scarcely ever gets more
than half an-hour of sleep at a time, if that.
What makes it worse, dear Eichard, is that she
is so very unhappy. Sometimes she cries nearly
through the whole night. I try my best to
keep her up, but I'm afraid her weakness has
much to do with it. But Kate is very well, I
am glad to say, and the children are very well
too. Bertie is beginning to learn to read. He
often says he would like to see you. Thank
you, dearest, for the money and all your kind-
DEMOS 311
ness, and believe that I shall think of yon every
minute with much love. From yours ever and
ever,
' Emma Vine.'
It would be cruel to reproduce Emma's
errors of spelUng. Eichard had sometimes
noted a bad instance with annoyance, but it
was not that which made him hurry to the end
this morning with lowered brows. When he
had finished the letter he crumpled it up and
threw it into the fire. It was not heartless-
ness that made him do so : he dreaded to have
these letters brought before his eyes a second
time.
He was also throwing the envelope aside,
when he discovered that it contained yet an-
other slip of paper. The writing on this was
not Emma's : the letters were cramped and not
easy to decipher.
'Dear Eichard, come to London and see
me. I want to speak to you, I must speak to
you. I can't have very long to live, and I
laust^ must see you.
' Jane Vine.'
This too he threw into the fire. His lips
w^ere hard set, his eyes wide. And almost
immediately he prepared to leave the house.
312
DEMOS
It was early, but he felt that he must go
to the Walthams'. He had promised Mrs.
Waltham to refrain from visiting the house for
a week, but that promise it was impossible to
keep. Jane's words were ringing in his ears :
he seemed to hear her very voice calling and
beseeching. So far from changing his purpose,
it impelled him in the course he had chosen.
There must and should be an end of this sus-
pense.
Mrs. Waltham had just come downstairs
from her conversation with Adela, when she
saw Mutimer approaching the door. She ad-
mitted him herself. Surely Providence was on
her side ; she felt almost young m her satis-
faction.
Eichard remained in the house about twenty
minutes. Then he walked down to the works
as usual.
Shortly after his departure another visitor
presented himself. This was Mr. Wyvern.
The vicar's walk in Hubert's company the even-
ing before had extended itself from point to
point, till the two reached Agworth together.
Mr. Wyvern was addicted to night-rambling,
and he often covered considerable stretches of
country in the hours when other mortals slept.
To-night he was in the mood for such exercise ;
it worked off unwholesome accumulations of
thought and feeling, and good counsel often
DEMOS 313
came to him in what the Greeks called tlie
kindly time. He did not hurry on his way
back to Wanley, for just at present he w^as
much in need of calm reflection.
On his arrival at the Vicarage about eleven
o'clock the servant informed him of Miss
Waltham's having called. Mr. Wyvern heard
this with pleasure. He thought at first of writ-
ing a note to Adela, begging her to come to
the Vicarage again, but by the morning he had
decided to be himself the visitor.
He gathered at once from Mrs. Waltham's
face that events of some amtatim]^ kind were
in progress. She did not keep him Jong
in uncertainty. Upon his asking if he might
speak a few words with Adela, Mrs. Waltham
examined him curiously.
' I am afraid,' she said, ' that I must ask you
to excuse her this morning, Mr. Wyvern. She
is not quite prepared to see anyone at present.
In fact,' she lowered her voice and smiled
very graciously, ' she has just had an — an
agitating interview with Mr. Mutimer — she
has consented to be his wife.'
' In that case I cannot of course trouble
her,' the vicar replied, with gravity which to
Mrs. Waltham appeared excessive, rather
adapted to news of a death than of a betrothal.
The dark searching eyes, too, made her feel
uncomfortable. And lie did not utter a
314 DEMOS
syllable of the politeness expected on these
occasions.
' What a very shocking thing about Mr.
Eldon ! " the lady pursued. ' You have heard ? '
' Shocking ? Pray, what has happened ? '
Hubert had left him in some depression
the night before, and for a moment Mr. Wy-
vern dreaded lest some fatality had become
known in Wanley.
' Ah, you have not heard ? It is in this
newspaper.'
The vicar examined the column indicated.
' But,' he exclaimed, with subdued indigna-
tion, ' this is the merest falsehood ! '
' A falsehood ! Are you sure of that, Mr.
Wy vern ? '
' Perfectly sure. There is no foundation
or it whatsoever.'
' You don't say so ! I am very glad to hear
that, for poor Mrs. Eldon's sake.'
' Could you lend me this newspaper for
to-day?'
' With pleasure. Eeally you relieve me,
Mr. Wyvern. I had no means of inquiring
into the story, of course. But how disgraceful
that such a thing should appear in print ! '
' I am sorry to say, Mrs. Waltham, that the
majority of things which appear in print now-
adays are more or less disgraceful. However,
this may claim prominence, in its way.'
DEMOS
315
It will
' And I may safely contradict, it ?
be such a happiness to do so.'
' Contradict it by all means, madam. You
may cite me as your authority.'
The vicar crushed the sheet into his pocket
and strode homewards.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
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